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. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Feels as if I’ve been dashing back and forth about the whole country, if you want to know.
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