Amen , an olden word, back to Greek and Hebrew, verily the most familiar of everyday prayers yet carrying three years' indulgence, seven if you dip your hand in holy water before you mark the body. Prayer is a practical strategy, the gaining of temporal advantage in the capital markets of Sin and Remission. She said a morning offering and got to her feet. At the sink she scrubbed her hands repeatedly with coarse brown soap. This question was insistent in her life.
Germs have personalities.
Different objects harbor threats of various insidious types. And the questions turn inward forever. An hour later she was in her veil and habit, sitting in the passenger seat of a black van that was headed south out of the school district and down past the monster concrete expressway into the lost streets, a squander of burnt-out buildings and unclaimed souls. Grace Fahey was at the wheel, a young nun in secular dress. All the nuns at the convent wore plain blouses and skirts except for Sister Edgar, who had permission from the motherhouse to fit herself out in the old things with the arcane names, the wimple, cincture and guimpe.