She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. "You tried to do something that was fine, and … and civilization would not let you. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. 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 leaves town to-morrow.
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