The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. Here and there, a building might be seen with the doors and windows driven in, and all access to it prevented by the heaps of bricks and tilesherds. . Since then he has persistently annoyed me. Forthwith he presented his card. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own.
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