“So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. Wood the best of wives. Brendon. “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. The Ralphs and Mannings and Fortescues came down upon the raw inexperience, upon the blinking ignorance of the newcomer; and before her eyes were fairly open, before she knew what had happened, a new set of guides and controls, a new set of obligations and responsibilities and limitations, had replaced the old. It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest.
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