She recalled him. "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. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. We must always move on. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. I have just come from him. But I shan't let him off thus.
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