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. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. “Oh. " "No—no," laughed Jack. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. My name is Wild— Jonathan Wild.
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