He found Abraham on guard as he had left him. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
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