Over by the drinks table. Oh dear!" Mary abandoned me and hurried over the vast expanse of lawn calling out to Sophy and Alexander that pussies do not...drink orange juice or punch."Sebastian," said a quiet voice behind me. "It's time you and I had a little chat."Standing behind me was Mary's husband, the former chaplain of the institution for young offenders I had spent a mere six months of a much longer sentence. He was dressed in an ankle-length black cassock with cloth-covered buttons and his. Art said nothing during his wife's recital, letting hertell the story as she would, even though her tears cut himto his soul. When he was sure she'd finished, he took herhand and kissed it. "Yes I can see, being dragged to Hellcan be frightening." Oh it was not that." Jane interrupted, batting away thefresh spate of tears with her free hand... "It was what Ihad done - what I had become - that scared me so badly. Ihad joined with Sheila, had become LIKE Sheila," Jane saidthe energy visibly. More

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