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After one day, we had moved to a small town, where we joined a church where woman were not allowed to vote. We lived cross corner from this church. I looked out at the stained glass windows one morning and just began to sob because I realized the church had some responsibility for what had happened to me. Then I began to share my story with pastors, often on deaf ears, some people were afraid of me. Only one clergy person said what a terrible thing to have happened to you. That was a gift.

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