She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “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. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. When he was done she kissed his cheek tenderly. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t.
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