She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. “Both!” said Ann Veronica. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed.
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