McClintock was amused. ” “He was probably right,” she declared. “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’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity.
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