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‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again,
hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and
crashing beyond the secret door. “Think of the mockery!” she said. 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. In one of the
cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. To
lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 06-07-2024 08:39:34