She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. 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. Not these twenty year. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade.
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