1 It is the world's original sin.
2 That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness.
3 But here was a visible symbol of the degradation of sin.
4 It was the imagination that set remorse to dog the feet of sin.
5 For every sin that he committed, a stain would fleck and wreck its fairness.
6 The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification.
7 It might escape the hideousness of sin, but the hideousness of age was in store for it.
8 Out of the black cave of time, terrible and swathed in scarlet, rose the image of his sin.
9 Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure swift penalty along with it.
10 Through some strange quickening of inner life the leprosies of sin were slowly eating the thing away.
11 Those finely shaped fingers could never have clutched a knife for sin, nor those smiling lips have cried out on God and goodness.
12 He felt that he had known them all, those strange terrible figures that had passed across the stage of the world and made sin so marvellous and evil so full of subtlety.
13 All that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sin we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy.
14 Don't let us talk about it any more, and don't try to persuade me that the first good action I have done for years, the first little bit of self-sacrifice I have ever known, is really a sort of sin.
15 There are moments, psychologists tell us, when the passion for sin, or for what the world calls sin, so dominates a nature that every fibre of the body, as every cell of the brain, seems to be instinct with fearful impulses.
16 He would examine with minute care, and sometimes with a monstrous and terrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the wrinkling forehead or crawled around the heavy sensual mouth, wondering sometimes which were the more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age.
17 On his return he would sit in front of the picture, sometimes loathing it and himself, but filled, at other times, with that pride of individualism that is half the fascination of sin, and smiling with secret pleasure at the misshapen shadow that had to bear the burden that should have been his own.
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