In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. . ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. I was grateful. ” There were no such girls and no such positions. ” She covered her face with her hands. It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. ” That conversation ended and he turned to her again. ” He sat down on her left side and put his hand on her knee, gesturing with his other hand. And, yet, I don't know. You know how stubborn they get.
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