She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. It reverberated in the silence. I swear it. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. Come. But I won't be cheated of my prize. It is extraordinary. An action which gave Gerald furiously to think. .
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