. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. It was easy enough to lie to anyone else. They were bathing in the stream. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. I wanted something alive.
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