He knelt in the silent gloom and raised his eyes to the white crucifix suspended above him. But the faint smell of the rector's breath had made him feel a sick feeling on the morning of his first communion. At the last blast the souls of universal humanity throng towards the valley of Jehoshaphat, rich and poor, gentle and simple, wise and foolish, good and wicked. The four, depend upon it, perpetually meet.
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