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II.

THE PARSONAGE.

In the pleasant front parlour of the parsonage at Pendlepoint, the
Rev. Frank Goldthwaite and his sister were lingering over their
tea-table. He was a young man, tall and broad-shouldered, with an
open kindly face, and grave thoughtful eyes, which yet at times could
sparkle with merriment as bright as that which so often shone in his


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