We must always move on. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. They cannot imagine the discomforts involved, and they see only mystery in your fight to recover your lost heritage. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so.
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