“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 had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. There was a long silence between them. Much to my amazement, as soon as I was in her presence I forgot about my magic and thought only of love. ” Her mind drifted into a speculation about her sister. She was introduced, perhaps a little too obviously for her taste, as a girl who was standing out against her people, to a gathering that consisted of a very old lady with an extremely wrinkled skin and a deep voice who was wearing what appeared to Ann Veronica’s inexperienced eye to be an antimacassar upon her head, a shy, blond young man with a narrow forehead and glasses, two undistinguished women in plain skirts and blouses, and a middle-aged couple, very fat and alike in black, Mr. “That was a moment of madness,” she said.
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