’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. 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. "On Friday," he replied.
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