He brightened as she took off her hood. She pushed. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. To return. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Nothing to check their proceedings but a declining habit of telling the truth and the limitations of their imaginations. Gone off, cool as you please, and left me to manage everything.
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