He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. I’m so glad you’re not angry. ” “I wonder,” he said, a trifle irrelevantly, “what the future has in store for you. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon.
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