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. There would be no mercy in this man. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. "Then his case is hopeless. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. It makes no difference. She stared. ‘And I am delighted to see that you are ready to admit that the Charvills—or rather the Valades—are indeed your affair.
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