On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town.
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