“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. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. "I didn't imagine for a moment that you'd accept it, but I thought it right to make you the offer. ’ Dieu du ciel, but she was a fool. ” She replied, smiling awkwardly. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start.
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