She sensed his acute frustration as he unzipped her raincoat while trying to kiss her. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. ‘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. She got up and unlocked the door. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled.
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