“There were some Hampshire Pellissiers. ‘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. Mr. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. The back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white.
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