She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. After all, they’re history in the making.
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