“Love should be enough, John, but it never is. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped.
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