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They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. “Arthur, this is Miss Pellissier—Mr. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. Most of all she enjoyed the gentle gratitude of her foster family members, even the teasing 7 of Mike, her foster brother, who liked to play food critic to give her a hard time. 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. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known.
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