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Show 227 and in another room, decorated with giraffes and jungle plants and reached through double doors concealed by a curtain, watched a dramatization of the Fall. His,mind was numb during most of the four hours the endowment ceremony took, and his stomach made unpleasant sounds and developed, before he was through with a second covenant, a painful and embarrassing bubble of air, because you fasted on the day you went to the temple. Sometime during the long morning he put on the white robe with the knot on one side and the gather on the other, the apron with its stitching of leaves, the white sash over the apron, the strange cap that resembled a baker's hat. He remembered extending his hand, as the elders left and right of him did, and receiving the handgrips called the Sign of the Nail and the Patriarchal Grip, given by a temple worker in white who passed along the rows of seats with a kindly smile on his face. He remembered raising his right hand and bowing his head with his eyes closed to affirm dreadful oaths of chastity, fidelity, and honesty, and placing his thumb under his left ear and drawing it across his throat to his right ear and later cupping his palms onto the left side of his abdomen and drawing them across to the right. In a green pastel room without murals he was one of ten elders selected for the Circle of Prayer, and stood with his left hand on the right shoulder of a red-faced sweaty elder named Crumb who shared his room at the mission home, and felt the left hand of a thin, pimply elder he hadn't seen before on his right shoulder. Later still he stood at a veil with holes in it, the inside of his right knee pressed against the inside of the right knee of the temple worker on the other side of it, the instep of his right foot pressed against the temple worker's right instep, the temple worker's hand thrust through one of the holes to rest on Lorin's right shoulder. Their cheeks were also pressed together, the veil rumpled |