She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. It’s like this: You want freedom. ‘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. If you forget your sex, jade, I must forget mine.
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