She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. I had a hunch. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. 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. " "Holloa! my hearty!" cried Ben, starting to his feet. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head.
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