It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. 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's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. ” “Ready for the performance next Friday?” Martin asked. We are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it. The devil is on top, not below. That’s— that’s my private life.
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