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. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside. You are wholly in my power. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. “We’re in for it. Figg," said Jack.
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