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Mostly
she
noticed
everything
physical
about
people
immediately
,
but
just
occasionally
that
vigilance
slipped
and
people
stole
up
on
her
,
carved
a
niche
in
her
life
without
her
having
made
that
vital
initial
assessment
.
For
if
it
was
n't
made
,
sometimes
years
would
go
by
before
they
intruded
into
her
thoughts
again
as
strangers
.
Like
now
,
watching
Rain
.
That
first
meeting
had
been
responsible
,
of
course
;
surrounded
by
churchmen
,
awed
,
frightened
,
brazening
it
out
.
She
had
noticed
only
the
obvious
things
:
his
powerful
build
,
his
hair
,
how
dark
he
was
.
Then
when
he
had
taken
her
off
to
dinner
the
chance
to
rectify
things
had
been
lost
,
for
he
had
forced
an
awareness
of
himself
on
her
far
beyond
his
physical
attributes
;
she
had
been
too
interested
in
what
the
mouth
was
saying
to
look
at
the
mouth
.
He
was
n't
really
ugly
at
all
,
she
decided
now
.
He
looked
what
he
was
,
perhaps
,
a
mixture
of
the
best
and
the
worst
.
Like
a
Roman
emperor
.
No
wonder
he
loved
the
city
.
It
was
his
spiritual
home
.
A
broad
face
with
high
,
wide
cheekbones
and
a
small
yet
aquiline
nose
.
Thick
black
brows
,
straight
instead
of
following
the
curve
of
the
orbits
.
Very
long
,
feminine
black
lashes
and
quite
lovely
dark
eyes
,
mostly
hooded
to
hide
his
thoughts
.
By
far
his
most
beautiful
possession
was
his
mouth
,
neither
full
nor
thin-lipped
,
neither
small
nor
large
,
but
very
well
shaped
,
with
a
distinct
cut
to
the
boundaries
of
its
lips
and
a
peculiar
firmness
in
the
way
he
held
it
;
as
if
perhaps
were
he
to
relax
his
hold
upon
it
,
it
might
give
away
secrets
about
what
he
was
really
like
.
Interesting
,
to
take
a
face
apart
which
was
already
so
well
known
,
yet
not
known
at
all
.
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She
came
out
of
her
reverie
to
find
him
watching
her
watch
him
,
which
was
like
being
stripped
naked
in
front
of
a
crowd
armed
with
stones
.
For
a
moment
his
eyes
held
hers
,
wide
open
and
alert
,
not
exactly
startled
,
rather
arrested
.
Then
he
transferred
his
gaze
calmly
to
Bob
,
and
asked
a
pertinent
question
about
boggis
.
Justine
gave
herself
a
mental
shake
,
told
herself
not
to
go
imagining
things
.
But
it
was
fascinating
,
suddenly
to
see
a
man
who
had
been
a
friend
for
years
as
a
possible
lover
.
And
not
finding
the
thought
at
all
repulsive
.
There
had
been
a
number
of
successors
to
Arthur
Lestrange
,
and
she
had
n't
wanted
to
laugh
.
Oh
,
I
've
come
a
long
way
since
that
memorable
night
.
But
I
wonder
have
I
actually
progressed
at
all
?
It
's
very
nice
to
have
a
man
,
and
the
hell
with
what
Dane
said
about
it
being
the
one
man
.
I
'm
not
going
to
make
it
one
man
,
so
I
'm
not
going
to
sleep
with
Rain
;
oh
,
no
.
It
would
change
too
many
things
,
and
I
'd
lose
my
friend
.
I
need
my
friend
,
I
ca
n't
afford
to
be
without
my
friend
.
I
shall
keep
him
as
I
keep
Dane
,
a
male
human
being
without
any
physical
significance
for
me
.
*
*
*
The
church
could
hold
twenty
thousand
people
,
so
it
was
n't
crowded
.
Nowhere
in
the
world
had
so
much
time
and
thought
and
genius
been
put
into
the
creation
of
a
temple
of
God
;
it
paled
the
pagan
works
of
antiquity
to
insignificance
.
It
did
.
So
much
love
,
so
much
sweat
.
Bramante
's
basilica
,
Michelangelo
's
dome
,
Bernini
's
colonnade
.
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A
monument
not
only
to
God
,
but
to
Man
.
Deep
under
the
confessio
in
a
little
stone
room
Saint
Peter
himself
was
buried
;
here
the
Emperor
Charlemagne
had
been
crowned
.
The
echoes
of
old
voices
seemed
to
whisper
among
the
pouring
slivers
of
light
,
dead
fingers
polished
the
bronze
rays
behind
the
high
altar
and
caressed
the
twisted
bronze
columns
of
the
baldacchino
.
He
was
lying
on
the
steps
,
face
down
,
as
though
dead
.
What
was
he
thinking
?
Was
there
a
pain
in
him
that
had
no
right
to
be
there
,
because
his
mother
had
not
come
?
Cardinal
Ralph
looked
through
his
tears
,
and
knew
there
was
no
pain
.
Beforehand
,
yes
;
afterward
,
certainly
.
But
now
,
no
pain
.
Everything
in
him
was
projected
into
the
moment
,
the
miracle
.
No
room
in
him
for
anything
which
was
not
God
.
It
was
his
day
of
days
,
and
nothing
mattered
save
the
task
at
hand
,
the
vowing
of
his
life
and
soul
to
God
.
He
could
probably
do
it
,
but
how
many
others
actually
had
?
Not
Cardinal
Ralph
,
though
he
still
remembered
his
own
ordination
as
filled
with
holy
wonder
.
With
every
part
of
him
he
had
tried
,
yet
something
he
had
withheld
.
Not
so
august
as
this
,
my
ordination
,
but
I
live
it
again
through
him
.
And
wonder
what
he
truly
is
,
that
in
spite
of
our
fears
for
him
he
could
have
passed
among
us
so
many
years
and
not
made
an
unfriend
,
let
alone
a
real
enemy
.
He
is
loved
by
all
,
and
he
loves
all
.
It
never
crosses
his
mind
for
an
instant
that
this
state
of
affairs
is
extraordinary
.
And
yet
,
when
he
came
to
us
first
he
was
not
so
sure
of
himself
;
we
have
given
him
that
,
for
which
perhaps
our
existences
are
vindicated
.