He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. Anna looked at her, startled. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. 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. . "Oh no—no! You say this to terrify me—to try me. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. " The chair was then opened.
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