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Was such delicate architecture ever appreciated by the patients, I wondered. Or by any lone ramblers, lost on
this muddy path, and chancing across this apparently disembodied church, stuck in the middle of nowhere,
with no congregation and locked doors.
I noted its two entrance doors. Male and female. Even in the presence of God, the patients were still segregated
and carefully monitored.
We returned to the car, already caked in mud. The mud wasn’t a good sign. This road was well travelled.
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