What was his problem, she thought to herself. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. "All I want is to be happy!" she said aloud, as if she were asking for something of such ordinary value that God would readily accord it to her because there was so little demand for the commodity. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows.
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