Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. ’ ‘How can it be in dispute?’ frowned Mrs Sindlesham. ‘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. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. ’ ‘Oh, that tragic pair,’ uttered her ladyship in saddened tones. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. “It was,” she admitted. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish.
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