’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. ‘Major, sir!’ The major appeared so swiftly that Melusine was instantly suspicious. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. “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. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play.
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