Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

Twenty-nine
Behold a pale horse:
and his name that sat on him was Death,
and Hell followed him.
R E V E L A T I O N 6:8
San Francisco was no longer a mean little town beside a bay but a city
spreading across the windswept hills. Happy Valley was no longer a tent
encampment but a community of houses. Many of the ships that had been
dragged ashore and turned into stores, saloons, and boardinghouses had
burned down. They’d been replaced by frame structures and brick buildings.
Planked sidewalks now lined the muddy streets.
The ferryman stood with his face into the wind. “Every time the city
burns, they just build her back up better than ever,” he told her as they
crossed the bay. He warned her about the brackish water from shallow wells
and said she would find better lodgings up the hill away from the docks.
Angel was too tired to venture far and ended up in a small hotel on the
water.
The smell of the sea and garbage reminded her of the dock shack of her
childhood. It seemed a hundred years ago. She had supper in the small dining
room and suffered the bold stares of a dozen young men. She ate the
stew to fill the void in her stomach, but the one in her heart remained.
I did the right thing in leaving Michael. I know I did.
Returning to her small room, she tried to sleep on the narrow bed. The
room was cold, and she couldn’t get warm. She curled into a tight ball
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