There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. But then the features changed. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light.
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