” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. He drew her away from this thought. 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. That capitaine has arranged it all. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. " "But I was intoxicated!" "So was the man you just fought in this room. It was eleven o'clock. They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. It opened and a nun’s head popped out.
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