Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. “Take me back. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. “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. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing.
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