Adeline’s mother and father kneel there twice a week, cross themselves and say their blessings and speak of God. Adeline is twelve now, so she does, too. But she prays the way her father turns loaves of bread upright, the way her mother licks her thumb to collect stray flakes of salt.
Love this description and characterisation of youthful disregard, the rote of ritual + foreshadowing of what's to come.
