"Hullo, Mike! Did those kids hot-wire my car again? I thought they'd agreed not to do that after all the trouble their joy-ride got them into last yea...?"He'd called out to Mike who was standing out in front of the chapel leaning against a new Buick.That's odd, Father Ambrose thought. Mike doesn't own a car. He usually borrows Jim's jeep."No, old friend, the kids didn't make off with your car. I did. I swiped the keys from your desk and sold it to the junk yard. I expect it's on its way to the. Nuts.She opened another piece of feedback. This one read:Dear Sugarwallsflirtbox or, if I may, Mary--Have you ever walked the Tuileries as the last pale cast of twilight bronzed the lustrous gray armour of banished Day sinking into his erotic exile of Night? I did once, in the company of an Italian courtesan-- okay, she was a two-bit Milanese hooker, but still, she had read Dante in school, they do that there still in Italy, part of the legacy of Mussolini's not completely unenlightened rule. More

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