This—all this swamps them. 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. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. "I am as God made me. "Heed her not.
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