“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 don’t know, John. Ah! I shall never forget the figure Jack cut on that occasion. I can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as I please. Let me engage myself. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. The prisoner breathed with difficulty.
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