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Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. 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. ’ ‘How could he when he didn’t even handle it himself? Went off, I told you, and left it all to me. We shall expect you to tell us all what to wear. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. . There is no future for me here.
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