\" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. “You are magnificent,” she said, “but the steel of your truth is a little oversharpened. 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. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace.
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