But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Know that I love you, that I will always love you. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her.
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