I trust you as holy men trust God; you could do nought that was not pure and loving, though the deed might pierce me unto death.
George EliotHer little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.
George EliotI trust you as holy men trust God; you could do nought that was not pure and loving, though the deed might pierce me unto death.
George EliotHer little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.
George Eliot