[ His throat flexes with a dismissive groan, silenced. She's fresh from the Rachel And Leah Center, no experience to lend her prayer any personality except that beat of hesitation. No intrigue or relief at the chance to bypass it. He supposes it bodes well for her fastidiousness.

His recitation is dry, rote: ] Blessed be the fruit.

[ A waste of breath, in his opinion. She'll find out within the month that he's merely paying lip service, and it might have been kinder if he hadn't. But she insisted.

Hap resumes his previous tone. ]

My wife Renata spends most of her time downstairs. I'll take you to meet her later.

[ He steps towards her as he speaks, letting her track his position by his voice. Hap comes to stand at her side. ]

Why don't we start with a tour of the house? Do you have a cane?