“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. 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. It seems that he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was the artist sister whom he was with. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river.
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