"By George!" he exclaimed. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. 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. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb.
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