Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. " "Oh, God!" cried Jack, "she does not know me. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her father would say: "Faith.
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