She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. Take it, if I die. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted.
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