Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. I don't threaten idly, as you know. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. Humph. She could not stir hand or foot. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. I suppose my creed is, ‘I believe rather indistinctly in God the Father Almighty, substratum of the evolutionary process, and, in a vein of vague sentimentality that doesn’t give a datum for anything at all, in Jesus Christ, His Son.
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