He put the car in gear and drove up to the corner. A dead stoplight hung overhead, swinging in a faint breeze. To the left was a neat white church. The grass was cut. Neatly kept flowers grew beside the flagged path up to the door. Burt pulled over. “What are you doing?” “I'm going to go in and take a look,” Burt said. “It's the only place in town that looks as if there isn't ten years’ dust on it. And look at the sermon board.” She looked. Neatly pegged white letters under glass read: THE POWER AND GRACE OF HE WHO WALKS BEHIND THE ROWS. The date was July 24, 1976—the Sunday before. “He Who
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