’ The girl glanced up the road and turned back, annoyance in her face. " "You believe it, father?" "From the bottom of my heart. “Go on!” “People talked to you in Paris about us,” she continued, “about Anna the virtuous and Annabel the rake. 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. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly.
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