” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. Kneebone, Mrs. Gosse sneered. “It’s—private. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. ‘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. Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet.
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