Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. My Mom’s stomach has a lot of bad scars that make it look all ropy and weird. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. There was no point in rushing into the long walk home.
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