There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. “Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. I'm glad of it, I'm sure; for it's all owing to him his poor mother's here. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. Instantly she seized the poker and made a desperate effort to get them out again. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. We’re going in. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently.
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