A quick flush stained her cheeks. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. “I cannot say more. The son of Prudence instead was obliged to take her back to the convent on Sunday to see Martha and tell her the good news, and to fetch her meagre belongings. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream.
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