She looked at him mournfully. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. Their faces had bite marks that were hers. She described it so vividly. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. "She is saying that you, a woman, will readily understand the position in which she finds herself.
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