With as much confidence and theatrical flair as I could muster, I eased into the center of the room on my four-inch black pumps. My clutch purse was...exactly that, clutched by my side in dramatic fashion. My picture brim hat was pulled low over my forehead so as to inspire 1930's George Hurrell black and white photographic effects. I hoped that I looked as glamorous as I felt. The room was quiet except for the rasp and rustle of nylon rubbing gloriously against polyester. After a small. She was turning pink and starting to sweat."Well, those can always be forgiven. You would need to speak with a priest though, I'm not qualified to," he cut her off."Do you HAVE to go to your priest?" No, I... Why?" Well, you could always do what you want, just go to another priest for forgiveness and you won't be caught," he emphasized the words psychically reinforcing it in her mind. One final thing was all he needed to seal the deal. He focused on the word Presumption and blocked it entirely. More

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