God had never answered any of her prayers. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. ’ The sword was released to slide back into its scabbard. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. ” Her mind diverged to other aspects, and another type of womanhood.
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