Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate.
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