There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. "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. "Oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere.
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