. Her eyes noted it mercilessly. “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. Let me take the satchel, sir. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. ’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone.
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