The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. "I merely asked the question," he said, after he had enjoyed the boy's suspense for a moment. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs.
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