" At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. ’ Hilary stared at him. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. But, holy smoke!—the Yale spirit in….
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