When she returned to the library to turn out the lights, she contemplated reopening that troublesome Bible. She was in just that kind of mood, and it wouldn’t take long. After a few vodkas, Barbara Jean’s form of Bible study was to close her eyes, open the book on her lap, and let her index finger fall onto the open page. Then she would read whatever verse was nearest the tip of her nail. She had done this for years, telling herself that one day she would land on just the right thing to turn on some light inside her head. But, mostly, she spent countless nights learning who begat whom and
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