Nor can we. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. She described it so vividly. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. Clean water.
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