But back to meeting Bethany. Dinner had made me sluggish. Before b-ball at the gym, I planned to shower, get through more of The Gothic Image. It was a book for my medieval history class, about religious art in France. I was a hundred pages behind. The previous owner had highlighted a single sentence in the introduction (“Work of the thirteenth century interests us even when inadequately executed for we feel there is something in it akin to a soul”) before giving up. So far, I understood that one line perfectly, but not much else.