“I do not even know who you are. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. She became aware of the Scotch student regarding her with stupendous amazement, a tea-cup poised in one hairy hand and his faceted glasses showing a various enlargement of segments of his eye. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. That’s probably true. And I affirm to you, on my own conviction, that she who falls, because she has not strength granted her to struggle with affliction, may be reclaimed,—may repent, and be forgiven,—even as she, whose sins, 'though many, were forgiven her'. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. Wood resounded from below.
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