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It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. “Go it, miss!” cried one. “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. It's of no use. “It was only yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned coming over. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. "Leave him to me," he said. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. “I forbid it!” she said firmly. She must not tell Martha about Gerald. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters.

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