’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. Ann Veronica was overcome by this amount of emotion.
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