” She looked thoughtfully into the fire. "If I am the devil," observed Wild, "as some folks assert, and I myself am not unwilling to believe, you'll find that I differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody. We were worried. It makes no difference. Lucy? Come 177 on out. 8. “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. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. Nothing at all.
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