Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. " He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm. " "Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried Jack, brandishing the bar. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person. “Very likely,” he answered. 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.
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