CHAPTER THE THIRD
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS
Part 1
Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. In all
these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and,
depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. ‘Don’t lose your temper again. ”
“Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. And Miss Miniver fell discussing
whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the
author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. She felt her chest trying to
float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason
why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked
her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged,
into the hands of God.
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