But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. You’re a little late, you must remember, and we are punctual people here. 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. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it.
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