“Friendships that are all very well between school-girls don’t always go on into later life. ” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. ‘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. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous.
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