Now hanging in only you matching panties you shake uncontrollably crying silently. As they step forward you hear the woman’s voice ‘Where the hell...are you both?’ and they step back, turning and walking out without a word. Hearing voices close to the door the woman demands, ‘Where’s that woman got too?’ shocked you hear one of the men reply ‘her car weren’t as busted up as she thought, we got it going for her and she left’. ‘Ungrateful bitch didn’t even come to say thanks!’ is all you hear the. Heaven. I swallowed. And when I opened my eyes, and turned back toward to the chapel in the window, I felt, for a moment, completely certain that either the incense, the sacramental wine, the cocoa, or some combination of the three had intoxicated me to point of hallucination—because pacing steadily up Rue Saint-Paul, right across from the café, was a man who looked very much like Mr. Caine. I blinked in disbelief. The dark, disheveled hair, the sharp stature and brusque gait—there was no. More

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