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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... woman. However, like all the other well-meaning adults who felt called to “mission” to teens, Shirley would soon fade into the anonymous swirl of the past. “She's a pushover,” Karen said, her eyes brimming with mischief. 18 Wendy MacGown.
... woman, was setting plastic cups and a pitcher of water on a small table beside a battered wooden pulpit. She caught her breath. “There he is.” Karen pointed. But Anna had already spied him beside the door, where he was handing out ...
... woman, whose craving for alcohol had left her lifeless and hollow before her thirtieth birthday.” He raked the side of his head with one hand, mussing his hair, giving him an earthly look, not so much the gilded angel. “She paid our ...
... woman who'd 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 ...
... woman, Anna Westover,” he said, his expression so filled with love that tears formed in her eyes. “Innocent, chaste . . . you are everything . . . well. ...” His arms came around her under her coat; and she leaned against him ...