"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. 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. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. Your name.
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