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. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. All the influences about her worked with her own predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. Detention would mean coming home late, which spelled distraction and trouble on the night of a kill. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. At least here she was safe.
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