She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. “Of course I mean, who was she?” “I believe that her name was Pellissier,” Ennison answered.
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