It’s all nonsense. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. "Not as I loved mine. “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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