No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. So is the chapel of All Souls at Oxford, and the great hall at Blenheim, and I don't know how many halls and chapels besides. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men.
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