"Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. ” He was not in the least surprised.
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