They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. The lad looked alarmed. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. Could she go through with it? She must. 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. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. '—'What is it, Mint?' asked all three.
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