In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open.
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