“Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. The young man looked at her. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. “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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