“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it. ’ Obediently, Gerald rose and walked to the other end of the parlour. ’ Gerald was relieved to hear the loud guffaw issuing from the old man’s lips. . She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald.
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