Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. They trudged and talked, and Manning struggled, as he said, to “get the hang of it all. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. “Your arrival is really most opportune.
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