F. ” “It certainly was,” she admitted. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done.
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