Instantly I knew that I was going to run away that night before he returned from the neighbouring island. And from that point they went on to a thoroughly embittering wrangle. 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 didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. I'll see.
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