His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. He recognized me at once, and he behaved like a madman. ‘Odd sort of a nun. " "Comfort yourself, then, Aliva.
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