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. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. He glanced up. But I’m going to-day. They sold him the whisky. "Perhaps things would have been different if she had lived.
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