‘My name’s NOT More, Mr. " He had now gained the high road. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. One group at the door attracted Jack's attention, inasmuch as it was composed of several of his old acquaintances—Mr.
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