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The room was elegant. Tom had been here on a few occasions in the past, so he knew what to expect. Bishop Dowd was a no-nonsense man, devoid of humor and seemingly obtuse, at least when matters of secular or non-devotional impact were on the table. Actually, that might serve to make all this a little easier, Tom felt. He would lay his cards on the table, and let the chips fall where they may. There was no easy way to approach this, so maybe it was a blessing that he knew how the Bishop would react.
The floor-to-ceiling book shelves were filled to overflowing with volumes of treatises written by religious authors from practically every century since Gutenberg invented the printing press, and some were probably even older, given their appearance as they sat on the shelves, offering their stately grace to the world. Tom's fingers traced the works of Thomas Aquinas, Paul, JohnPaul II... it was a Who’s-Who of Catholic philosophers. The priest wished the collective inspiration and guidance could jump out of the books and into his brain, as he anticipated his upcoming meeting. His palms were sweating and his collar felt tight this morning. At last, the moment of truth arrived. This day had been too long coming. He heard the massive oak door start to open, and the elderly bishop walked into the room clutching a Bible. His sad eyes acknowledged Tom, but he said nothing as he extended his hand.
Father Flannery bowed slightly, kissed his Bishop’s ring, and muttered a few words of greeting, “Good morning, Excellency, thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”
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