If I can’t talk anywhere else—I DO want an understanding. Yet there was nothing for her to do. At the first blow, Mrs. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. Her patience was waning fast. 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. The streets were full of colour.
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