She made a careful selection.
“I have cared too much for the beauty of this world.... I have failed in charity to my poor girls. Because of my intense repugnance to their sin.... I have thought, often, about—people I love, when I should have been thinking about God.”
After that she received the Sacrament.
“Now,” he said, “there is nothing to be afraid of.”
“I won’t be afraid if—if you would hold my hand.”
He held it. And she lay still a long time, with her eyes shut. Then he heard her murmuring something. He stooped close.
“This—is—dying. I thought it would be horrible. And it’s bliss.... Bliss.”
The priest’s hand slackened, as if at the bidding of some wonder. She gave a weak cry.
“Oh—don’t let me go.”
His grasp tightened.