His arms were naturally big and his chest was covered with a smattering of soft hairs. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. ’ ‘Will you have done, Gerald?’ demanded Hilary, exasperated. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. ‘A man who is false, who steals papers, who has a plot to take another’s name, who lies to the Mother Abbess and to me, and above all this—’ her voice near to breaking ‘—one who is French. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them.
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