She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. ‘My papa he does not wish me to marry the man I choose, and thus he places me in the convent that the nuns may lock me up and I cannot escape. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. I asked him—to take me away. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. They were true noblemen, men of the court. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot.
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