Hastily, he reached for the door. ‘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. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened.
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