Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. 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 belly was being touched, she felt her thighs caressed softly. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time.
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