Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. But I have never seen America. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult.
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