‘Come,’ she called. . ” Ann Veronica hesitated, and then stood in the open doorway and regarded her father’s stern presence. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. I'm going through his pockets. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors.
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