Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. “Mr. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. He had been baptized there.
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