’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. "I'm your dupe no longer. He kissed her at the door. He glanced up at the coachman. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad.
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