Yet she held her tongue. 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. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. "Then it is not too late to save him.
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