“Oh, God!” she said at last, “how I wish I had been taught to pray!” Part 3 She had some idea of putting these subtle and difficult issues to the chaplain when she was warned of his advent. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. My Mom is hell bent on having the biggest, most beautiful house in the neighborhood, my college education be damned. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. He stabbed a kitchen knife between her ribs. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account.
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