“Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. “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. ” She replied. .
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