But I had to know for sure. ‘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. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn.
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