Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. She has already forgotten it. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. . ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them.
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