The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. 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 suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. If you can tell me nothing I don’t already know, so be it. ” “But how did you tell him? You’ve never told me. There was a second co-respondent. \" \"Wow. “Let me see,” he said.
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