She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. But there were two places of punishment which merit some notice from their peculiarity. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother.
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