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. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. ‘She’s gone. I want to tell every one. I’ve tried to use my authority. I think that I am a little disappointed in you.
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