“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. ‘I think it is better if I hold the pistol. ” John’s father added. ‘Kill him? Oh. "Yes, your son, Madam. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens.
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