He was shaking his head
exuberantly, swinging his legs boisterously and sweating immensely like the
great wrestler from mercury. Even the ground on which he stood was groaning in acerbic
pain.
He gave his first punch; it
landed in vain air. He shook some more and gave his second punch; it hit
nothing. While wiping out his sweats, he gave his third punch; it went directly
into something soft. It wasn’t a head, it wasn’t an arm; it was a belly, the
protruding belly of Elizabeth, the seven months pregnant lady.
Five minutes before, the pastor
had said, “Pray!”
Do you understand this?
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