"Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum. Benedícta tu in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Iésus..." The prayer, spoken through a throat choked with sorrow, echoes off the walls and off the shelves and shelves of mildewed books and scrolls. The air is thick with the smell of dust and age. The room is alight with the glow of a hundred candles, dancing their slow flickering dance. "...Sáncta María, Máter Déi, óra pro nóbis peccatóribus, nunc et in hóra mórtis nóstrae..." "Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum. Benedícta tu in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Iésus..."