on mine. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the tribute. To Caesar what is Caesar’s, to God what is God’s. A long look from dark eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven and woven on the church’s looms.
Riddle me, riddle me, randy ro. My father gave me seeds to sow.
Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel.
―Have I heard all? Stephen asked.
―Yes, sir. Hockey at ten, sir.
―Half day, sir. Thursday.
―Who can answer a riddle? Stephen asked.
They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling. Crowding together they strapped