She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. Mr. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. "Not a syllable!" answered the carpenter, angrily. Good riddance. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror.
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