“Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. ‘Whereas my need was very great indeed. I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. . . “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. 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. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. “So you come from Anna, do you?” she remarked. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. If we were set upon I could not defend you.
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