“I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. The lad hesitated. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. “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. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. "I'll tell you," answered Jonathan, sternly.
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