“You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. . . 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. I’ll show it to you later. He put an arm around her. It was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention. ” He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading this last sentence.
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