Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. “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. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. ’ Gerald was staring at her, an arrested expression on his face.
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