Perhaps it was loneliness. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. “Don’t let them know I’m here. Nor my grandfathers both. The nuns wore their habit, and said all their offices, and went about their tasks unobtrusively, relieving the poor and needy and tending the sick. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others.
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