“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. ‘I did not think so. “Ciao, Fragolina. ‘And then vanished into thin air,’ rejoined Hilary on a sardonic note. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain. "I will have it now," rejoined Trenchard, "or our agreement is void.
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