You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. One would think I had agreed to her going. Horrible doubts assailed her. I thought that I was marrying Meysey Hill, not that creature.
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