Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ’ Lucilla frowned. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. Don’t take revenge on him because I’ve wronged you. “Never. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. “It is a hateful story. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time.
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