“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. "You are my prisoner. "Perhaps he means well.
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