“But Sir John?” he exclaimed. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. 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 am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. “They’d better not,” said Hetty.
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