The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. “Come with me. 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. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime.
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