Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. 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. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least.
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