One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. ‘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. Fathers are abandoning their own children at the first sign of fever or buboes, Gianfrancesco! Priests have abandoned their churches. Never did I need a rescue so much. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. So they fenced with smiles.
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