Bishop Finn is the man I met last night, who asked if I wanted a picture with him. He really thought I might; many of the people he meets do. Here is the smile, here is the hand that signs the documents, here is the measured voice that tells the priests they must go away until everything dies down. Nothing permanent, of course, nothing ever permanent. Here is the little hat, which confers total power. Here are the glasses through which the eyes scan the numbers, how much it is worth, how much must be paid out. Here is the compassion in the face, that flowed toward the sinner and never the
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