The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. “I expected you this morning,” he said. ” She looked around the apartment again. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness.
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