Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. It made her laugh, which in turn made him laugh. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. ’ Hilary’s jaw dropped open, and he stood stupidly staring, the nun’s clothing dangling from his hand. If there were any pearls, none came into the light. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target.
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