Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Men are against her. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. I never saw a man who wasn't. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover.
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