It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. Sheppard, "and, if it please you to visit your indignation on any one let it be upon me, and not on your excellent husband, whose only fault is in having bestowed his charity upon so unworthy an object as myself. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened.
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