And you shall have a share of the gold for yourself. ’ Which effectually silenced her. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. " "I see," remarked Kneebone. “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. ” He looked at her intently. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment.
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