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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. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. If you don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare worse later. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay.
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