Gerald crossed back to the window. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. 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. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver.
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