She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. ’ ‘Mercy me,’ gasped the nun. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all.
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