” Her mind went off to Capes. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. “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. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. You will only make me hurt you the more. Very good. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair. She tore open the envelope and read it.
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