“MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. "He is all alone. “What else did Michelle say?” “She said that the guy was all broken up about it, that he had another woman on the side or something. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. .
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