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“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 said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. It is different. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. A few random students gawked at them in the hall.
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