The Greenhouse at Twlight
Miss Eleanor Vance arrived at St. Catherines Academy on a Tuesday in early March, carrying two trunks and a letter of introduction that smelled faintly of mildew. The headmistress, a woman whose jaw could have split stone, took one look at Eleanor's shabby travelling coat and said, "You will be in the bottom form. Do not expect special treatment, Miss Vance." Eleanor smiled—a bright, practiced...
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