“Mrs. Ferguson half-rose from her seat. “Father Blaise. It is so good of you to come.” “Father Blaise.” Tracy seemed overcome. Maybe she was relieved to have a distraction to get Alvin to stop rocking and his mother to stop crying. “Father Blaise.” Vince shook hands in a manly fashion. Another chorus of Father Blaises rose from the Fergusons who had been polishing off the second attempt at bacon in the kitchen. They wiped crumbs from their mouths as they clustered near the front entrance. France...s Ann stood in the door from the dining room. I recognized the priest from the photo with Jimmy Ferguson. Father Blaise nodded gravely at everyone. Not being the most church-going person in the world, I was having a bit of trouble figuring out his appeal. He somehow managed to be both pear-shaped and doughy, a Tweedledee-Tweedledum kind of man. Too much nose and not nearly enough chin. If the hair on his head was lank and sparse, he more than made up for it with the stuff that sprouted from his nostrils and ears.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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