“Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. To be no longer with Martha was strange. ‘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. ‘It is not easy. Wood. Of you—an angel with one wing. It was clear it must be to-morrow.
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