The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. ” 129 She smiled wider. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. 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. "Women are always balling up and muddling clean cases. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference.
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