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Updated: May 1, 2025
"The fact is, madame," began the priest, with hesitation, "this liqueur comes from the Trappist monastery of El Largani." "Yes?" "It was made by a monk and priest to whom the secret of its manufacture belonged. At his death he was to confide the secret to another whom he had chosen. But the monks of El Largani will never earn another franc by Louarine when what they have in stock is exhausted."
An Arab brought coffee, and the same African liqueur which had been taken to the tent on the night when Trevignac had dined with Domini and Androvsky. When the priest was about to drink some of it, he suddenly paused, and put the glass down. Domini leant forward. "Louarine," she said, reading the name on the bottle. "Won't you have some?"
They grow every sort of things, but their vineyards are specially famous, and their wines bring in a splendid revenue. This is their only liqueur, this Louarine. It, too, has brought in a lot of money to the community, but when what they have in stock at the monastery now is exhausted they will never make another franc by Louarine." "But why not?"
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