. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. “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 would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. I worship you.
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