And I get myself dirty. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in.
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