“How would you prevent it?” she asked. 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. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. His suspicions at first fell upon you. But the rise of the chest was quite perceptible now. Happy Thanksgiving. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters.
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