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"Do you know that it's Sunday morning, and I ought to be reading my two chapters?" she demanded severely. "This town life is making me forget my religion already, and as for you, you worldly-minded young sinner, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, beguiling me with your heathenish dance parties. Go along now and let me get my mind in order again." "Shall we go on or wait for him here?" asked Isabella in a whisper. "Well, no, major, I can't say that he was. In fact," added Etwald, with the air of a man making a simple statement, "I hated him!".
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"Silence!" thumped Patricia. "Did you ask me here to insult me, major?" Ruth Clinton was the unfolding of the first hour-petal, and I got a glimpse of a heart of gold that I feel dumb with worship to think of. She's God's own good woman, and He made her what she is. I wish I could have borne her, or she me, and the tenderness of her arms was a sacrament. We two women just stood aside with life's artifices and concealments and let our own hearts do the talking. "And the pup-pup-pergola, too," added Patricia mischievously..
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