" At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. “They would spoil every chance. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. . ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold.
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