“I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. 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. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. ‘I do not believe you. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water.
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