'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. ” Thank Heaven! Mr. Mrs. “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. ” And Ann Veronica at once went back with the hold-all, trying not to hurry indecently but to keep up her dignified air of being a wronged person doing the right thing at a smart trot, to pack.
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