Frederick Parsnip emerged from his study. He was depressed
about Laura Finch's death. He had sharpened all his pencils several times and
shifted the contents of his in-box to the deal-with-later box. He had started a
sermon he might be able to use at the funeral service, but he was out of his
depth. The vicar would have made a good missionary, preaching hope and glory,
comfort and joy. Death and sadness were too much for him to cope with. He preferred
not to think about them.
***
