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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. "What's the matter?" demanded Jonathan, harshly. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently.
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