Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. “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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