One cannot trust any man at all. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew. “Am I dull?” she said. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. E. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. If our young person hadn’t had the nurse part cut out, eh? She might have known more and done less. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. .
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