“Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “this is most extraordinary. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. And I want you for myself—for my wife. I've always been more or less music-mad. “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. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms.
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