"What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. " "I'm no reader of riddles," said Jonathan. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. ” “A little pit!” said Ann Veronica; “a little prison!” “It’s just as often a little refuge. There was something holding women down, holding women back, and if it wasn’t exactly man-made law, man-made law was an aspect of it. Only promise me this. .
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