‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. “Then some of your family history is known to me. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides.
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