At last—I told a story. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. Not for me. Anna said nothing. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence. “I’m fine,” she said softly. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue.
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