As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Give me the books. To Breanna for believing in this project at every step. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. She had agonized over it for weeks. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky.
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