"That is very kind of you, but I am on my way to America. Expiation. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus.
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