How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. “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. ’ Roding gave him a look of respect. “You have even her name. ‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House. “Are you serious?” “You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject.
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