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The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. ‘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. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. "But, let that pass. “You’re so unbelievably beautiful, Lucy. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said.
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