‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. “Tell me,” he said; “speak to me. 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.
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