"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. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. I'm about to ring for supper. A man has more freedom to do evil than a woman. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered. .
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