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. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. ‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy. "It's scarcely necessary," replied Wild; "however, if you require it, certainly. You've got me interested and curious. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. Mr. I'll take them back with me.
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