The Crystal FishbowlAuthorHouse, 29. okt. 2007 - 436 sider Anna Westover had no idea at seventeen, still grief-stricken from the loss of her grandmother, and back living with her horrible family, that Victor Spofford, a young charismatic Baptist preacher, would be the wrong choice, the worst choice. On her grandmothers insistence shed refused to even date the boy shed always loved, simply because he wasnt Baptist. Annas wedding was a dream; her new life in western Massachusetts a wondrous challengeuntil mysterious letters began to arrive. Then Victor changed . . . or was it that he finally revealed his true nature? No one would believe that he abused her. He never hitat least not intentionally. And as the preachers wife, she could confide in no one. To others, he was gorgeous, enlightened and dynamic. He knew the perfect words to give comfort or guidance. He brought scores of sinners to the Lord with his woeful childhood tales. Who was she but his meek wife, lovely yet subdued, who sat in her accustomed front-row pew each Sunday morning, gazing up at him in adoration? He was always sorry later: crying, begging forgiveness. And she wanted to believe him. He was so pitiful in his sorrow. But after he lost his job and they returned to New Hampshire, her hopes are firmly and completely crushed when another letter arrives, and she uncovers his lies. Desperate for comfort, she turns to another man. Then the violence escalates and she must take a stand. |
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... hurt him. “Snow blew all around, covering me, mixing with my tears while it melted and dripped down my face,” he continued. “Finally, I reached for my coat. It was patched and shabby—too small—but all I had. My thin hat did little to ...
... hurt. There was no need to hit. Maryjean leaned forward and touched the letter with two fingers. “If he's in Baptist seminary,” she said, looking at Anna slyly, “he's at least twenty-two. A bit old for a sixteen-year-old, wouldn't you ...
... hurt Rob on purpose, venting her misery upon him; then later, encouraging Henry to do the same. “Rob's hard to understand sometimes,” Anna said, her voice quavering, earning her mother's glare. “Most teens are,” Victors said, with an ...
... hurt that made Anna want to retract her words. Craving love, her mother had fallen for the worst kind of lecher. She could only look at her sadly, wishing that for once, they could really connect. Even as a small child, she'd sensed her ...
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