If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. That’s the fact about them. I will pray for you. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me.
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