I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. ’ ‘Because I like you, of course,’ Gerald said promptly. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. 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. I had no idea.
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