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. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. "I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. I don’t think they do matter. I understand. “Of course. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured.
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