Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. The chance had gone. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry.
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