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Unformatted text preview: stretched as priests do when they are ordained. I prayed for forgive- ness and understanding, and I wept. I didn't want to think my sin had killed these women. I envisioned the Christ Child, and I became the small helpless baby, and I said, "Christ, succor me, Holy Mother the Church, succor me. What can I do on my own?" I went to confession, to one of the oldest priests there. He was Italian, but had only just come home from England, where many Protestants were now being put to death. We were rebuilding our monasteries in that land, sending priests back to serve the Catholics who had kept the faith during times of persecution. I chose this priest because I wanted to confess all-my birth, my memories, the strange things said to me! But when I was kneeling in the confessional these things seemed the dreams of a madman! And it really did seem to me that I was a man only, and had had some proper childhood somewhere which had somehow been erased from my mind and heart. I confessed only that I'd been...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10