You could at least complain,” I say. “I adore complaining. It calms the nerves.

I don't mean to be ungrateful but if someone's out there answering prayers, mine's not at the top of the list

I hope you don’t mind my joining you,” said Leanne. I minded. After all, she’d tried to kill me. A girl in a novel would say it was hard to believe, but it wasn’t.

That’s where proper stories begin, don’t they, when the handsome stranger arrives and everything goes wrong?

How can something as fragile as a word build the whole world?

I explained we lost the porch to the flood. Father hasn't gotten around to rebuilding it, although he's quite a good carpenter. He says if Jesus was a carpenter, its good enough for a clergyman. But I don't remember that Jesus let his house fall down.

My own mask stayed just where it ought. I’ve had lots of practice.