‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. “Well, no,” she answered. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened.
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