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. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. “You’ve been sneaking out just as often as Mary Lucia. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. I must apologize for my young puppy of a clerk. Mother and Son XI. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you.
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