She drew a breath, and sighed it out. " "Say the word, and I'm mum," returned the executioner. Jeez! It was about time. 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. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead.
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