This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. “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. " But he searched in vain. She wanted to be alone.
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