She became a living protoplasmic mass of fixed-price food ingestion.… She thought of the binge scene of Tom Jones…baby quail, stuffed with foie gras and garnished with baby onions…chew, swallow.… she had become Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians.
“Father, you know the Church’s teachings about angels and spirits, and I thought you’d take me seriously,” [Cora] said, leaning forward slightly. “I don’t want to think I have a supernatural visitor, but I don’t know what else to think.”
As soon as Cisco turned the handle of the door between their garage and kitchen, Cora knew something was terribly wrong. The door, blown by a powerful gust of wind that blasted through the house, struck Cisco in the head and chest.