“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. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers.
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