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For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. ‘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. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all.
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