" "You hear that," whispered Jack. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. It would be the wrappered world almost at its best. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. All the precious paintings and statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set above the altar. Wood; but they never come now.
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