Supper was over. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. Then the lady smiled and her radiance, even in the darkness, warmed Gerald unexpectedly. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. ’ Reminiscence made him smile.
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