265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door. The forgiveness and reconciliation was a cold and formal affair, and afterwards her father went off gloomily to his study, and Mr. “Not too bad. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries.
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