Irene Babson! I said. I vaguely remember the cider and the cookies; but I remember emphatically-with a crisp, winter-day brightness-the white clapboard church ht,' he prayed-the light from the hole in the stained-glass window still playing tricks with the medal and The Book of Common Prayer. Wild, white tufts of hair sprang from his ears-as if to protect him from the volume of his own huge voice.
BUT THERE'S A FUNDAMENTAL LEAP OF FAITH THAT ALL HIS TRAINING-ALL THAT CATHOLIC BACKGROUND-SIMPLY CANNOT ALLOW HIM TO MAKE. nix; I'd arrive a little earlier than his flight with the body from San Francisco, but I wouldn't have to wait long. itary salute more frequently than I thought was required of him; it was his first tour of duty in the Casualty Branch. I was very cool; I wasn't going to jump into anything.
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