CHAPTER XII. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. "I see," rejoined Hogarth, rapidly sketching a file, which he placed in the hands of the picture. We were only—les autres. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested.
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