The room seemed a vacuum. “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. ” Lucy answered, disturbed at how rehearsed the apology sounded. "Go on first with the light," he said. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. And I don’t.
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