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But his words were borne away by the driving wind. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. Major said you’d gorn. ‘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. But, after all, it will be different.
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