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She said it audibly, having learned long since that an audible prayer was a concentrated one. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. “She’s sensitive soul, far too sensitive to be married to an ass like Gianfrancesco. He was painfully in earnest, too. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold.
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