He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. Spurling, squeezing Jack's arm, and pushing him towards the door, "and, don't come here again. Tell me why you ran away from the convent. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. I’m sorry to hurt your feelings. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small.
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