Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. It's of no use. “Come to my rooms and have a drink. Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. Here your nephew will speedily be thrown. And let's see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much.
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