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The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. “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. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. She was trembling a little. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret.
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