Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. The first person who issued from the Lodge was Mr. ‘Yes, miss. E. This young man did not drink because he sought the false happiness that lured men to the bottle. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. “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.
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