Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. “Had he better have a nurse? I will be responsible for anything of that sort. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. It’s a world of dirt and skin diseases and parasites. Wood uttered something like an imprecation.
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