" Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. 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.
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