My face burns as I now speak of my past life to you, and as I
think what my old companions know and must often say about me. I detest,
as you cannot possibly understand, every remembrance of my past life, and
I hate and never can forgive myself, who, with mine own hands, so filled
all my past life with shame and self-contempt. Gently stopping the
remorseful pilgrim's self-accusations about his past life, Prudence asked
him if he had not still with him, and, indeed, within him, some of the
very things that had so destroyed both him and all his past life. 'Yes,'
he honestly and humbly said. 'Yes, but greatly against my will:
especially my inward and sinful cogitations.' At this Prudence looked on
him with all her deep and soft eyes, for it was to this that she had been
leading the conversation up all the time. Prudence had a great look of
satisfaction, mingled with love and pity, at the way the pilgrim said
'especially my inward and sinful cogitations.' Those who stood by and
observed Prudence wondered at her delight in the sad discourse on which
the pilgrim now entered.
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