” Ann Veronica read this letter through with grave, attentive eyes. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady.
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