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. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. She felt she had to go on. ’ Thus adjured, but mindful of Trodger’s orders, the militiaman went down the hall backwards, his eyes fixed on the prisoner. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin.
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