Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. "Fear!" echoed Wild, in a terrible tone,—"fear! Repeat that word again, and nothing shall save you. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. ” Lucy wanted badly to believe her. 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. ” “This,” Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, “reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. ’ ‘A pretty tale.
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