“It’s precious unromantic. There were two. “At the Tredgold Women’s College,” said Ann Veronica. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. “No, you weren’t bad in the slightest. 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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