I can’t. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread. 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. “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added. He stopped abruptly before the apparently incurious Chinaman. “Number 13, please, cabman. Another glass, Jack. ’ ‘Get on, Hilary, do,’ begged Lucilla. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her.
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