In those days people believed with a simple downrightness which I do not
observe among educated men and women now. It had never so much as
crossed Theobald's mind to doubt the literal accuracy of any syllable in
the Bible. He had never seen any book in which this was disputed, nor
met with anyone who doubted it. True, there was just a little scare
about geology, but there was nothing in it. If it was said that God made
the world in six days, why He did make it in six days, neither in more
nor less; if it was said that He put Adam to sleep, took out one of his
ribs and made a woman of it, why it was so as a matter of course. He,
Adam, went to sleep as it might be himself, Theobald Pontifex, in a
garden, as it might be the garden at Crampsford Rectory during the summer
months when it was so pretty, only that it was larger, and had some tame
wild animals in it. Then God came up to him, as it might be Mr Allaby or
his father, dexterously took out one of his ribs without waking him, and
miraculously healed the wound so that no trace of the operation remained.
Finally, God had taken the rib perhaps into the greenhouse, and had
turned it into just such another young woman as Christina.
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