“Margaret the Churchwoman, her father the Dissenter, Higgins the Infidel, knelt down together. It did them no harm.”

“Margaret could not reply. Was he incredibly stupid, or did he understand her better than she understood herself?”

“They had grown up together from childhood, and all along Edith had been remarked upon by every one, except Margaret, for her prettiness;”

“Margaret found that the indifferent, careless conversations of one who, however kind, was not too warm and anxious a sympathizer, did her good.”

“Thanks, Dad," she whispered in his ear. Then recovering her composure, she knelt before him and said, "I give thanks, my Father. May your decision be proved right and true.”

“She lay on her back and walked her fingers down her ribs, skipped them over her abdomen, and landed on her pelvic bones. She tapped them with her Knuckles. [. . .] I can hear my bones, she thought. Her fingers moved up from her pelvic bones to her waist. The elastic of her underpants barely touched the center of her abdomen. The bridge is almost finished, she thought. The elastic hung loosely around each thigh. More progress. She put her knees together and raised them in the air. No matter how tightly she pressed them together, her thighs did not touch.”