Quicksand
gutter. So, though she was very tired and very weak, she dragged herself up and succeeded finally in making her way to the store whose blurred light she had marked for her destination.
She had opened the door and had entered before she was aware that, inside, people were singing a song which she was conscious of having heard years ago-hundreds of years it seemed. Repeated over and over, she made out the words:
. . .Showers of blessings,
Showers of blessings. . .
She was conscious too of a hundred pairs of eyes upon her as she stood there, drenched and disheveled, at the door of this improvised meeting-house.
. . .Showers of blessings. . .
The appropriateness of the song, with its constant reference to showers, the ridic-
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