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. There was something indeed holding the whole species back from the imaginable largeness of life. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. “I’ve never been prone to them. “So that’s the way it is. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’.
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