Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. ‘They cannot help it. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. Mirrors. And, now, to find a messenger. You understand what I mean. It isn’t illusions—for us. “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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