The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. I’m a man, and I know what I mean. “Oh, damn!” he said. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. That had shut him up for a while.
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