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I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. "Here, take this and get the letter and open and read it. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. "I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. 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. In their opinion a hundred pounds would not repair the damage done to the prison. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact.
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