One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. . 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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