Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to. ‘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. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back.
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