“Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. She put her head out of the window. “Once or twice. After all, it is not long since that a Catholic nun in this country would have had to remain in hiding.
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