“He had not managed to see Robert P. Warner—who was still asleep, exhausted as he was from a late night of blogging about the loneliness of urban angst as recorded by French filmmakers, subtitling their angst like crazy, although the existential anguish was redeemed and ameliorated somewhat by plenty of full French frontal nudity, which he felt translated well without the subtitles, as least for him—but Peaborne had obtained a brief audience with Mystic Union.”
Clarity in Some Respects
“Mystic Union held out because while she, the former Mrs. Winmore, had a set of unique and murky perspectives on the care and treatment of virtually every ailment, not to mention almost total confusion with regard to the appropriate laws of inference, almost to the point of thinking that wet streets cause rain, this did not obscure her clear-sighted view of the main chance, and her clear knowledge that she currently had a shot at the main chance. She was dedicated to the proposition that Robert P. Warner had a winning lottery ticket in his clammy little hand, and she was resolved to hold the other hand encouragingly. And occasionally to pat it while giving sound, strategic advice.”
A True Difficulty
“‘I am an easygoing man,’ he once told Cindi. ‘I take things in stride. I try to exhibit the fruit of the Spirit. I don’t fluster really. So why does this woman make me want to jump up and down on the hassock here, yelling and waving the remote?’ Cindi had been unsympathetic to his dilemma. ‘Because you watch the news on Channel 4? Instead of switching it?’”
The Sultry Sage
[He] “discovered in the process that Robert, in addition to his prowess in allegations of wrongdoing when it came to inappropriate touching by pastors, was also a true pasty blogger poet with greasy brown hair hanging in the eyes just right, and a sleepy look that suggested profundity more than bewilderment. Which just goes to show.”
Wound Really Tight
“In short, he was a very sore and fanatically gnat-strangling ex-employee, and he had three months of unemployment coming in which he might be able to settle at least a few scores. All his scruples were wound tight around his axle, and the more he gunned the engine, the more things were starting to smoke deep inside his head.”
A Detail Man, in Other Words
“He was a classic paper-clip counter, correct-department-code-numbers-for-the-copying-machine maintainer, and one who generally focused on pennies, policies, and those blank ‘spirit of the law’ spaces in between the lines of all written procedures—but only so long as the ‘spirit of the law’ was interpreted and applied by a committee of first-century Talmudic scholars, all of whom had the disposition of a caged cinnamon bear with a sore head. Somewhat surly, in other words, in a passive-aggressive, muted sort of way.”
Filed Under A
“John Mitchell began to feel like something hot and wet was crawling up his spine . . . This was beginning to feel like a setup. John began to look suspiciously around the kitchen. ‘What do you want?’ Cindi asked him. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ ‘I want,’ John said darkly, ‘answers.’ ‘You’re the pastor,’ Sandy said brightly. ‘I bet those are back in your study.’”
Not Even a Hint of a Prohibition
“He jumped down the hall and slid into the kitchen the way he always did when nobody was home. He wasn’t sure that the apostle Paul would do something like that, but there was no clear prohibition of it anywhere. And besides, his socks were slippy.”
A Different Sort of Dead Orthodoxy
“He rocked back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the picture of his family on the opposite wall, just above the sofa covered with multiple stacks of books, all of them written by men with fifty-pound heads. Most of them were now deceased, and John used to declare from the pulpit that being dead had done nothing but add to their orthodoxy. For her part, Cindi had often told him that he was the theological equivalent of a mad scientist and had added the corollary that sofas were for sitting on.”
So He Looked Old School
“Pastor Mitchell had been in 2 Corinthians for two years now and was only in chapter 7. This, compared with his predecessors, made him a speed demon . . . He was a regular Tishbite—gray beard, bushy eyebrows, and slender build. And though he didn’t eat locusts or wild honey all that much, he still managed to look like a cross between Moses, Elijah, John the Baptist, and Gandalf. But for all that he was only forty-two and very spry . . . He looked severe enough that no one really noticed that he was not severe at all, and this meant that no one had a conscience attack or felt like they were going soft in their Calvinism because he always looked like he was being strict with them. So things were swell at Grace Reformed.”