Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. Very few survived her trials. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold.
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