’ ‘I find that difficult to believe,’ snapped the general, jerking to and fro as his agitation mounted. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. 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. Her heart thudded. For she and this old lady became at once friends.
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