But his grief was of short duration. ‘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. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. Gerald took Madame’s hand and kissed the fingers with a little more warmth than punctilio demanded. She felt that she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what was the matter with her. The dizziness made the trees sickening, the smell of Michelle’s perfume soapy and revolting. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully.
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