Not a clock.
"maybe not, call the favor insurance.
Okay, Quinn?"
I mistakenly picked up some books on tape that are devotional--
"Laura didn't believe in the resurrection, she would take him to pieces with her probing questions"
And the tall dark, handsome man enjoys contemporary christian and his bible is well-worn.
I've had my fair share of people who look at this poor little heathen and wish and pray to Santa that I one day embrace the idea that after I die something besides nothing happens, and that has been plenty for my impressionable self, thinking, "Is the reason I just hit that bird that Jesus is trying to tell me to believe in him?" But. . . once I start a book, I just can't stop it, even if I have no idea what's going on. Like (I think) Kellerman's "Bad love". I had no clue, but I waited until they apprehended. . . somebody.
If you want to feel cerebral and adopt beady shiny eyes, read Donna Tartt's "The Secret History" or, better yet, listen to it unabridged, because the author reads it and she's got a wonderful strange voice for piggy, I mean Bunny.
