And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. But all of that was forgotten. You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows. Nothing is wrong that you do. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. “Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith.
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