“Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. “A girl needs her mother most exactly when she thinks she doesn’t. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me.
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