[ It isn't actually a prayer, but just another verse for guidance. How is she to know that he doesn't understand latin? Still, she leaves it at that for the moment, pulling him closer when he leans until Anne can hold his head to her breast. Her fingernails run gently along the back of his head, the hair too short to really muss, then again as she does her best to stay calm for his benefit; bereft of words for his pride's sake.
She'll eventually, tenderly, move her hand back to his shoulder to guide him downward so that he can rest his head in her lap, where she can pet him (isn't that what it is?). She's now able to continue along the back of his neck with her fingertips just underneath the collar of his shirt, then across his shoulder-blade and along his arm, to his wrist. Then again, and again, her soft breaths soon defaulting into the soft hum of an old French melody she recalls. ]
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She'll eventually, tenderly, move her hand back to his shoulder to guide him downward so that he can rest his head in her lap, where she can pet him (isn't that what it is?). She's now able to continue along the back of his neck with her fingertips just underneath the collar of his shirt, then across his shoulder-blade and along his arm, to his wrist. Then again, and again, her soft breaths soon defaulting into the soft hum of an old French melody she recalls. ]