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. “I want to inquire,” said Ann Veronica. To-morrow they will all be contradicted. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it.
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