She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. 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.
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