“Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. ‘This is not love, Marthe. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. He did not speak for a moment. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. The Palazzo was unlike anything she had ever known. “Ungracious little beast, I call her.
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