Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. He recognized the face instantly. E. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. "Is this her work?" "It is," answered Thames.
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