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She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. “These are for you. I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. But she did not in the least want to do that. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. Activity in the hall intensified. She struggled against it quite uselessly. She had never understood how much knowledge had been kept from her because she was a woman and even began to doubt the methods of the Church, something she never would have dared before.
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