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datatime: 2022-12-02 05:34:42 Author:MqOPWqQl

No ma'am, it's like the devil himself, that's what it's like The spirit of evil

No ma'am, it's like the devil himself, that's what it's like The spirit of evil

It could not be that Satan was stronger than the Lord. The only possible explanation was that Thrower himself was too weak. It was his own faith that faltered.

Oh no she cried. "I can't believe Papa would--"

You got to get that wet shirt off. How'd you get snow clear down your shirt?

Reverend Thrower opened the door of the church and walked slowly, fearfully inside. He could not bear to face the Visitor, knowing how he had failed. For it had been his own failure, he knew that now. Satan should have had no power over him, to drive him from the house that way. An ordained minister, acting as the emissary of the Lord, following instructions given to him by an angel -- Satan should not have been able to thrust him out of the house like that, before he even knew what was happening.

I know what you 'was just.' Poor little Armor, you just pat him like a little boy and he'll feel better.

I said get your hands off me

No ma'am, it's like the devil himself, that's what it's like The spirit of evil

She stepped back, surprised. "I was just--"

See? You don't even believe your own husband.

Thrower knelt at the altar and cried out the name of the Lord. "Forgive thou my unbelief" He recited a litany of self-excoriation, he rehearsed all his failures of the day, until at last he was exhausted.

Trying to save your brother's life. He's no doubt dead by now.

How could you save him?

He was shamed afore his own wife, cause sooner or later she'd hear the tale from one of those children. Soon enough the tale would be all up and down the Wobbish. How Armor-of-God Weaver, storekeeper for the western country, future governor, got throwed right off a porch into the snow by his old father-in-law. They'd be laughing behind their hands, all right. They'd laugh him up and down. Never to his face, of course, cause there was hardly a soul between Lake Canada and the Noisy River who didn't owe him money or need his maps to prove their claims. Come the time when the Wobbish country was made a state, they'd tell that story at every polling place. They might like a man they laughed at, but they wouldn't respect him, and they wouldn't vote for him.

You got to get that wet shirt off. How'd you get snow clear down your shirt?

I do believe you, it just ain't like Pa--

He couldn't fall on his knees before her. He couldn't take one step toward her. He couldn't even think of taking a step toward her. Her fending was so strong he staggered back, he headed for the door, he opened it and ran outside in just his shirt. Everything he'd been afraid of came true today. He probably lost his future in politics, but that was nothing compared to this: his own wife did witchery in his own home, and she did it against him, and he had no defense against it. She was a witch. She was a witch. And his house was unclean.

You got to get that wet shirt off. How'd you get snow clear down your shirt?

See? You don't even believe your own husband.

I do believe you, it just ain't like Pa--

He stripped off his cloak, and his topcoat as well. The church was hot. The fire in the stove must have burned longer than he expected. Or maybe he felt the heat of shame.

I said get your hands off me

It was the death of his plans he was facing, and his wife just had too much of that Miller family look about her. She was pretty enough, for a frontier woman, but he didn't care about pretty right now. He didn't care about sweet nights and gentle mornings. He didn't care about her working alongside him in the store. All he cared about was shame and rage.

No ma'am, it's like the devil himself, that's what it's like The spirit of evil

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