Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. It was hard to meet that gaze. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. “But, dear, think! He is your father. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. ” “I promise,” he answered heartily. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them.
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