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210 A Face to Meet the Faces His Cassandra Maria Terrone Pilate’s wife sent a message: Do not interfere in the case of that holy man. I had a dream about him today which has greatly upset me. —The Gospel of St. Matthew He ruled, but I had his ear— mine attuned to stirrings and murmur, betrayal that could rise like a swarm of wasps. And my eyes saw what his could not. He called me his Cassandra and half-believed. Each morning as he left, smiled and kissed my brow still beating from visions that shook me sole to skull: sun plunging through sky, water climbing up our doorway, a legion of horses rearing. I did not ask to awaken that day to howling, to see that strange one stand before my husband, who washed his own hands in a blood-steeped bowl. That vision never left me. Soon after, Pilate did— said he needed a woman who had no dreams. ...

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