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At such times, the fierce old Child of Darkness wakes in me, the Coven Master beneath the Paris Ceiven and, above all, to whom But that old habit of authority is fraudulent and just a nuisance at best

I hated these hangers-on because they were there looking at Lestat as though he were a Carnival Curiosity, and I wouldn't have it I felt a sudden tee to destroy

But there are no rules a us now that authorize such rash actions And as I to make a mutiny here under your roof? I didn't know you lived here then, no, but you certainly had custody of the Master of the Place, and you allowed it, the ruffians, and the three or four more of them that came shortly after and dared to circle hi any too close

Of course everyone was most curious about Sybelle and Benjamin I told them quietly to stay directly beside et it out of her mind that the piano was so near at hand, and it would have a whole new sound for her Sonata As for Benji, he was striding along like a little Sa out h his mouth was very puckered up and stern and proud

The chapel struck me as beautiful How could it not? The plaster walls are white and pure, and the ceiling is gently coved, as in the oldest churches, and there is a deep coved shell where once the altar stood, which makes a well for sound, so that one footfall there echoes softly throughout the entire place

The stained glass I'd seen brilliantly lighted froured, it was nevertheless lovely with its vivid colors of blue and red and yellow, and its si of the one in whose memory eachhad been erected I liked the old plaster statues scattered about, which I had helped you to clear from the New York apartment and send south

I had not looked at thelass eyes as if they were basilisks But I certainly looked at them now

There eet suffering St Rita in her black habit and white wimple, with the fearful awful sore in her forehead like a third eye There was lovely, s Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower of Jesus with His Crucifix and the bouquet of pink roses in her arms

There was St Teresa of Avila, carved out of wood and finely painted, with her eyes turned upwards, the mystic, and the feather quill in her hand that marked her as a Doctor of the Church

There was St Louis of France with his royal crown; St Francis, of course, in hu of tamed animals; and some others whose names I'm ashamed to say I didn't know

What strucklike so uardians of an old and sacred history, were the pictures on the wall that marked Christ's road to Calvary: the Stations of the Cross Someone had put the into the world of this place

I divined that they were painted in oil on copper, and they had a Renaissance style to them, imitative certainly, but one which I find normal and which I love

I all my happy weeks in New York came to the fore No, it was not fear so much as it was dread

My Lord, I whispered I turned and looked up at the Face of Christ on the high Crucifix above Lestat's head

This was an excruciating e on Veronica's Veil overlaid what I saw there in the carved wood I know it did I was back in New York, and Dora was holding up the cloth for us to see