Jorge Bustamante

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I had heard so much about Monseñor, especially from Margarita, but had seen him only from a distance in the cathedral, and now he was here, at this kitchen table, chatting over chicken. I heard my name, then something inaudible, and Monseñor nodded his head yes, glancing at me. Then he said yes again. To what had he said yes?
What You Have Heard Is True: A Memoir of Witness and Resistance
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