” Lucy said softly. ‘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. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. Them young prigs is all alike. Women who Dids, and all that kind of thing. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot.
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