In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. “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. I have pleaded with her—no wonder that I have pleaded with her in vain. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully.
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