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. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. ” “Upon my word,” he declared, “you are right. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. ” “Not for you?” “No. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. "It would be a thousand pities, wouldn't it, to put so promising a lad out of the way?" "Devil!" exclaimed the knight fiercely, "Give me the paper.
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