‘A man who is false, who steals papers, who has a plot to take another’s name, who lies to the Mother Abbess and to me, and above all this—’ her voice near to breaking ‘—one who is French. ’ Martha frowned. Wood brought up. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. There were two of them. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. ‘Well?’ she said. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them.
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