He turned, and beheld Winifred. Come down with me to the Lodge directly. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. ‘All right, Trodger. "Can't!" repeated his mother. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned.
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