She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears.
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