The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. It was as follows, and, when uttered, produced a strong effect upon all who heard it, except the prisoner, who, in no respect, altered his sullen and dogged demeanour. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun.
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