The paradoxes of priestly poverty: dress blacks always spotless and creased, snowy collar below a flushed erudite Irish face—in missionary India, he told me, the locals had called him “the red man”—but a smile full of broken teeth.
the ant finds kingdoms in a yard of ground
The paradoxes of priestly poverty: dress blacks always spotless and creased, snowy collar below a flushed erudite Irish face—in missionary India, he told me, the locals had called him “the red man”—but a smile full of broken teeth.
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