The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. The man looked hard at him. ‘Keep still, for God’s sake! Hilary will send him off all right and tight, never fear. ‘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.
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