Eh bien, you have now the opportunity. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Having ascertained that a vessel sails for France from the river at daybreak to-morrow morning, I have secured a passage in her, and have already had the few effects I possess, conveyed on board. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent.
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