“One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. “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. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him.
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