“Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. 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.
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