For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present. Suddenly the door of the flat opened and closed. But be very careful not to let him know. Certainly not a gentlewoman. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without. 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 have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable.
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