Such pretty manners, she thought. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. ’ She turned quickly away that her feelings might not be obvious to Lucy and her great-aunt. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger.
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