“Leo Black Elk,” Geraldine said, her voice as sweet as the poisoned side of Snow White’s apple.
“Mrs.
Short.” Leo dipped his head. Something about the female Southern accent
always made him want to bow; he settled for a respectful nod.
“You didn’t join us for church services this
morning.” She swept her arm to indicate
the space they stood in, an open cavern in the center of the Rock that served
as the dining room and meeting area where Geraldine conducted prayer
services.
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