Abbott 100%

He pressed his thumb to the cold glass. What kind of abbott am I , he thought, if I cannot even master my own longing?

Then the chapel bell rang—once, twice, three times—and he straightened his back. He walked down the winding stairs, his sandals slapping the worn granite. When he pushed open the heavy oak door, sixty faces turned toward him, expectant. He stepped to the lectern, opened the worn leather psalter, and began to read in a voice that did not waver. abbott

" The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. " He pressed his thumb to the cold glass

For one hour, he believed it. And that was enough. sixty faces turned toward him