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Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. " Ruth turned back toward the stairs. ’ Gerald eyed her. 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. Even now she was dazed. Until then we mean to keep on hammering away. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. That could signify nothing except that the doctor had a friend down there somewhere, on an island in one of those archipelagoes.
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