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As to his mother, I've no pity for her. Trenchard glanced at the document. “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. Left alone with Edgeworth Bess, Jack burst into a loud laugh of exultation. Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower vanished. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus.
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