Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. 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. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth.
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