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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... touched her grandmother, who was snoring softly, her chin bobbing against her meager chest, looking frail and old. Over the past month, Granny had been failing steadily: spending more time in the bathroom, falling from dizzy spells, and ...
... touching her knee. “Share your burden with Jesus?” “Get real,” Lucy said, then slid back in her chair and glared at her. Anna snatched her hand away and blinked fast, her mind blank. “No, really,” she said, searching for words. “I have ...
... touched her. He held her braid gently, reverently: her throat ached as she turned to face him. She swallowed hard as he leaned closer—hoping, knowing, no needing what was about to happen. Please love me. Please touch me. She smelled his ...
... touched Lucy's arm. “It isn't enough and you know it, Karen. I promised I'd help her.” Tears filled her eyes. “Can't you respect that?” Lucy stared at her dessert, looking like an illpositioned mannequin, her eyes seeming to peer in all ...
... 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 say?” “He's twenty-three,” Anna said, and took a deep breath ...