’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly. But I can't consent to the course you would pursue—at least, not till I've given it due consideration. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Peste, but everything had become difficult. 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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