‘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. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. It was the bitterest moment of her life. “A silly little priestess who knew nothing of life at all until she came to you. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. You are doing your best to break our friendship. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained.
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