“No, sir.”
Parson Lute turned impatient. “And yet,” he demanded, “you expect to go to heaven?”
“No, sir.”
“What!” cried Parson Lute.
“No, sir,” she said.
Parson Lute was incredulous. “To hell?” he asked.
“Eh?”
“To hell?”
Elizabeth hesitated. By some direct and primitively human way her benighted mind had reached its determination. But still she hesitated––frightened somewhat, it may be, by the conventionality of Whisper Cove and Twist Tickle.