But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. When she got home to her lodgings that evening she reflected with something like surprise upon her half-day’s employment, and decided that it showed nothing more nor less than that Capes was a really very interesting person indeed. All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived or died. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. “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.
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