’ ‘It cannot be helped now. The dusky obscurity of the room was twice welcome. She was the High Priestess. 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. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband.
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