“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 ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. Upon this topic Capes was heavy and conscientious, but that seemed to her to be just exactly what he ought to be. Anna was more difficult. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid.
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