“You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. ” The official had no more to say. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. ‘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.
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