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In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. "No," replied Jack, peremptorily. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. "I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said.
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