Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. I was raised in the Church. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. She met him by the dugout after the game. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done.
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