“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. The knife is at my breast.
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