‘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. "You depart for Lancashire to-morrow. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. I guess we could go for a ride.
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