“It’s too bad. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. "You are not. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. “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.
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