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” Anna smiled very faintly, and shook her head. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. . I don’t play anything. 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. Rousing himself, he went to the door.
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