The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. “Women are mocked,” she said. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it. She saw nothing of their love-making, and came home from her boarding-school in a state of decently suppressed curiosity for Alice’s wedding. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. I've got to know why. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees.
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