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They were the only real marriages she had seen clearly. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. Nigel, you have not forgotten!” “No,” he said, with a little bitter smile. There was one letter. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. He was the junior of both his sisters, co-educated and much broken in to feminine society. Marriage was a taboo subject between them. 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. We all get deceived sometimes. He filled his pipe slowly.
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