"Shotbolt! by—" cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. 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. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. Sc.
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