Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. \" He rose and departed. Sometimes I try to talk. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. She had never understood how much knowledge had been kept from her because she was a woman and even began to doubt the methods of the Church, something she never would have dared before.
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