There was, it might be said, a double illumination. "She has, she has," said Jack, in a broken voice. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene.
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