What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. Things you would laugh at. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian.
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