but in any case, after this choral greeting she, the girl Ingeborg, stood as still as if she’d been struck by lightning or as if she were finally in a real church where the liturgy and sacraments and pomp were real, where they ached and throbbed like the ripped-out heart of an Aztec victim, so fiercely that she, the girl Ingeborg, not only stood still but also brought one hand to her heart, as if it had been ripped out, and then, just then, Mrs. Dorothea pulled off her cloth gloves, flexed her translucent hands without looking at them, and with her gaze fixed on a document or manuscript to one
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