“One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. What's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet—it was Jonathan's memorandum. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. ‘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. Play foul, and win.
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