“Now when the doors at the back of the church swung open, and she fixed her eyes on Thomas, and saw him standing there upright, in a stern gladness, she felt like she was looking down on him from the top of an emerald cloud of joy that surrounded that rainbow in John’s apocalypse. The brilliant notes of the organ’s glory had swirled down the aisle toward the back of the church and washed around her feet like an incoming tide . . . As she advanced down the aisle, Savannah knew herself to be beautiful, and there was no conceit in it anywhere, for the beauty belonged to another entirely. She was the glory of another. Her head was waiting for her at the front of the church, a dear, kind man. But she was not approaching him as though he were a head in need of feet; rather, her waiting head was bare and needed a crown.”
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