"'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession.' Margaret Scully leveled her shoulders and tried to still her nervous hands. Usually she felt at peace in the confessional. Her sins tended to be run- of-the-mill things, acts that weren't likely to anger God even on his strictest days. 

'You have a sin to confess?'

'I do, Father. I-I stole something.'

 'What did you steal?' 

She gnawed at her frayed lower lip. 'A coat. And a boxed lunch.'"

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