I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. This is grace I am saying! Oh! my dear! all the joy and weeping of life are mixed in me now and all the gratitude. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write.
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