She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. Her sister had told him that it was true. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. 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. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. Jack turned away with an aching heart. gutenberg.
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