Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated.
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