She never knew what became of her farmer after that. 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. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. Period trying desperately to cover her nudity with a dingy hand towel she had found lying on the floor in a corner. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. She had been carrying them, he assumed, but then again the school had some particularly talented kids among the usual ruffians.
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