” That phrase about dragging the truth through swamps of nonsense she remembered from Capes. I had been about as foolish and selfish as a girl could be. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. ’ ‘I could have done so at the first and saved you the pain,’ she told him merrily. He can come round there. 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. But he knew. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open.
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