‘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. “If I cut her neck, you’ll never get the stains out of your fancy car. Sheppard, with a look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion. Brendon was silent. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. The night was now profoundly dark. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.
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