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. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. She’s taken my sword. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me.
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