There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. See paragraph 1. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman.
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