“David Courtlaw!” she repeated. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. It was not a hopeful looking group. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. ’ ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Gerald. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages.
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