There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. The nuns, they were very good with a whip.
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