" There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. 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. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. “Call it warning, if you like. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning.
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