“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 have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her.
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