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If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. ” Lucy said, frowning. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. 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. Anna watched her with curious eyes. 150 “Homely.
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