. E. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. ‘He just came. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. ‘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. .
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