I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. Wood in the deepest mourning. ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot.
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