He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. ‘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. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it. But I see now. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened.
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