" On leaving Mr. 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. “I do not think that he is quite dead. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. It had ceased now, but as he closed in on the area, a faint muttering came to his ears.
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