Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. 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 asked no further questions for the moment. At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming.
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