His face was very serious. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. ‘Mademoiselle. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. She had no place she loved.
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