“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. ’ ‘What?’ ‘Neat little toy. She glimpsed Chinese penury when she entered a square given over to the fishmongers. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess.
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