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. “Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately to hurt him?” She tried to sound the humorous note. ‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn.
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