. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. Jonathan had to feel his way. "I yield to fate. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. 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. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility. 1. Hope reared.
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