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When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands. Mrs. ‘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. It's of no use. I made the pies. ‘I do not understand you. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut.
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