Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. "By the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice gennteel-lookin' kiddy, I must say. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. I did not know what God had in mind then. He laughed reassuringly. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you.
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