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🎮 “I thought you were something,” answered the girl. “I’m an artist. Or, rather, was,” she added after a pause. She looked into his eager, hopeful eyes. Yes, it had always been so—it always would be, to the end. Not priests and prophets, but ever that little scattered band of glad sufferers for His sake would be His army. His weapon still the cross, till the victory should be won.!

🏆 Joan did not answer. There seemed no words that would come. She held out a large strong hand and gave Joan a longish grip. “You’re right,” she said, “we must get her out of this house at once. Forgive me.”!

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