She smiled. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. 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. She got pregnant. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. " "Humph!" ejaculated the carpenter.
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