She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. “Go on,” he said. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Just a formal marriage. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood.
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