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In the hidden area within the music box were ninety-two full glass bottles and eight empty ones.

“Uncle Jet, we still have ninety-two posts left to fix,” Nathan said.

On Sunday, in the middle of page ninety-two of my new book, the doorbell rings unexpectedly.

Dozens of white prayer candles illuminated the stonework of its worship hall—one hundred ninety-two at a quick count—arranged on built-in shelves that reached all the way up to its vaulted ceilings.

Consider how many of us grew up knowing the jingle, “In fourteen-hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue,” but never hearing the date 1619.