I let Random.org pick a page, and it selected page 178.
The squawking of crows drew his attention back to the porch. A bare-foot girl in a nightgown stood on the warped steps. Her pale hair wanted brushing, and the peach satin bow she wore had slid halfway down, stuck in the rat’s nest of it. She looked to be about the same age as Memphis. Just like the farm, there was something a little off about her. A crop turning bad.