There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. He drew an awed breath. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. Whence had she come: whither was she bound? A temporary congestion in the street held up the caravan for a spell; and Ah Cum looked backward to note if any of the party had become separated.
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