Her greatest exploit was the howling before the mid-day meal. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears.
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