Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. She's fine. “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.
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