But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. 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 do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. “That sounds interesting. ’ Her features broke apart in a laugh.
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