Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Then the storm broke. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so.
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