"But never mind who, or what I am. I do not wish to return to Paris. ” Lucy gestured to the Treehouse, which had been roofed and framed. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. 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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