’ I received strange looks from them. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. As for that, what man ever had? "That's a remarkable young woman," he offered, merely to note what effect it would have.
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