’ Roding allowed that he had a point, and followed him as he began to mount the stairs. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. 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. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart.
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