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Summary
“Holy Father,” said the Prime Minister. Lenny had expected that this late he’d be rousing the man from sleep, or at least find him undressed for the night, but instead the Prime Minister was still dressed in the smart, funereal sort of suit Lenny had met him in, with that same self-satisfied smirk on his face. “I almost didn’t recognize you; your attire is — should we say — a bit different.”
Lenny raised an eyebrow. “But of course,” the Prime Minister continued, “how could I not recognize the Holy Father? His beautiful blue eyes; his soft, round mouth. Please, will you come inside?”