“Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. " "Dare not!" echoed the carpenter; "I don't understand you, Joan. 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. You’re a piss-poor liar, John.
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