The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. ‘I have no idea. We're lost. ‘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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