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. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. Mr. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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