Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. “Did your foster dads ever try to molest you?” “Of course they did, John. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver.
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