E. 95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. "Jack," said the other, sternly; "don't provoke me further, or I'll give you a thrashing. 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. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine.
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