Excerpt from The Festival of Mora, Vol. 3: An Historical Romance
Yes, it was my father, my own fa ther, she would shriek out, and then humbling 2herself to ‘her persecutors, on her knees, with hands uplifted, and streaming eyes, would she supplicate for succour. To my father’s dungeon onlyvbear me tomy.father’s dungeon: suf fer metocreep into the darkened corner; suffer me to share this straw and his chains, and I will bless younclemency.
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