He was caked with dried muck. Wood was scarcely seated before Mr. Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. “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.
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