Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. “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. This is my first venture over here. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. My people don’t know what to do. And after that Alice became remoter than ever, and, after a time, ill. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. He proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for him by the ladder. There was, it might be said, a double illumination.
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