His expression became pained. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. “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. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. I've engaged to watch over you as a son, and I will do so as far as I'm able; but if you neglect my advice, what chance have I of benefitting you? On one point I've made up my mind—you shall either obey me, or leave me. But he knew.
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