I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. I’m so glad that Michelle’s invited Mike to dinner without telling me! Please make yourselves at home while I try and scrounge up some food so everyone can have dinner!” She sashayed back into the kitchen. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. “I wish I didn’t swear. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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