" "Thank'ee, Sir," grinned Sheppard. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. . “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. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. "Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. " And, dexterously applying the implement, he forced open the lock.
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