“Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. 13 Montague Street. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible.
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