Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. 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. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. He had not to wait long. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women.
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