Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. I'll eat them when we start. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me.
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