"I never told anybody," she went on. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. “I meant it. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. I do not desire to extenuate my guilt—far less to defend it; but I would show you, and such as you —who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine—how much misery has to do with crime. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for.
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