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. There was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it—thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity.
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