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Smith," observed Wood. F. He felt that he was getting on with her very slowly indeed, but he did not see how he could get on faster. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. The bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. It was evident the lady’s servant knew his mistress, for he had come equipped with a tray upon which reposed a decanter and two glasses. They were horrible people. 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. Rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy.
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