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 shall value it highly, and will promise never to part with it. “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed.
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