Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. Ladies with weapon’s on ’em. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. And I affirm to you, on my own conviction, that she who falls, because she has not strength granted her to struggle with affliction, may be reclaimed,—may repent, and be forgiven,—even as she, whose sins, 'though many, were forgiven her'.
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