And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. " "Very well, sir. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. “I am just back from Paris. I might have told you the truth.
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