His sister followed. “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. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. “Come on. ” “You! Why, you have been an angel to her,” he exclaimed impatiently. ” He went to the window and fidgeted with the blind, looking out to where the tree-tops of Regent’s Park showed distantly over the houses.
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