Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. She wished she had not stood up. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. " "You hear that," whispered Jack. "I began to fear, from his having quitted the old place, that some misfortune must have befallen him. 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. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail.
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