Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways.
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