" "You shall be treated according to your deserts, then," said Jonathan, maliciously. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment.
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