All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. " "There are bad stories, then, just as there are bad people?" "Yes. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. He added, ‘Also others, but I don’t recall them. Then she would be dead, and that was no use.
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