“I thought we had discussed that, father. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. "Then we're imprisoned. “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. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish.
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