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. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. Why not? Quite willing.
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