She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. ‘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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