“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 can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. “May you have as much good fortune as you deserve, but not enough to make you forget us. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand.
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