Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. "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. You know you don’t mean it. ‘Aye, sir. The massive door was unlocked, and they entered the cell. I hate to see you spoil yourself with guys like me.
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