There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. "Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it.
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