A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. “For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. I've delivered Jack Sheppard from many an assault. But, it can't be helped. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. After all, it is not long since that a Catholic nun in this country would have had to remain in hiding. Ten years of military life had taught him caution, but only strengthened a fearless zest for diving into any promising adventure with unalloyed enjoyment. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience.
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