“I’ve been,” she said, “forbidden to come. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned.
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