‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. T. Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones.
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