Shall we begin?” And begin he did. Young Hawkes marched through fifty-three verses on everything from the hypocrisy of the whited tomb to the Old Testament assurance that the Lord looketh on the heart, and he did not stop until he had discussed each and every one in between. I sat agog, my smile widening with each remark. Islington was silent as the mute statues on Mars Hill. And when it was all over, the hymn sung, the meeting dismissed, I looked over at Islington—sitting stiffly, arms crossed, eyes straight ahead. At length he took a long, slow breath, closed his eyes, and then—just as I’d
...more
