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. ’ ‘Damn you, answer me!’ Her eyes flashed. I get along with my Mom sometimes, Lucy. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. “I really had not thought about it at all,” Anna answered smiling. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom.
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