"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. The soldiers surrounded the cart, drew their swords, and by striking the rioters first with the blunt edge of their blades, and afterwards with the sharp points, succeeded in driving them back. I have been in torment all the while to know whether it was to Anna or to Annabel that you were making love so charmingly.
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