Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. ’ She sighed. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. “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. She was by his side. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. All this torrent of misleading, spurious stuff that pours from the press.
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