I shall not rest until I have uncovered the truth.

...and it seemed to the girl that the whole wide church with its dimness, and consoling poverty (that half assured her its God was indeed the God of the poor) was filled with the faint susurration of moving lips, a momentful of sorrow cupped from the day-long stream of sorrow that flowed endlessly into this humble church of the outcast, the abandoned, the oppressed, and flowed seaward away into the boundless memory of God

The inside surface of the cup is unpainted.

“Afraid? Oh no! they never interfere with me. […] And look here,” and diving her little hand into the bodice of her dress she produced a double-barrelled nickel-plated Derringer, “I always carry that loaded, and if anybody tried to touch me I should shoot him[…]”