The highest form of knowledge was magic: the priesthood. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. Ennison had disappeared. When he found himself thinking about it, it upset him so that he at once resorted to distraction. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me.
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