You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. “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 acted calm, but could not help being offended. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted.
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