“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. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. "Were I in your place," said Smith, "I should be apprehensive of Wild, because he's a declared enemy. He smiled. And let's see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much.
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