CHAPTER XVI. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. She got pregnant. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. That is why I am here. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly.
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