“David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. . The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. She was asked to meet him after his game Saturday afternoon. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. ‘God loves you, even if your father didn’t. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. They had heard nothing, seen nothing.
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