" "Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. F. The Ragged Edge.
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