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Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. ‘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. Nothing could exceed the dismay of these personages when they learnt why they had been summoned. You have grown into my life. .
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