“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed Mrs. Larry and Cathy always went to great lengths to make the holiday season very special, getting a real tree from American Sale every year even though it was an extravagance. “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. You shall know the truth.
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