Eventually, she said: “I think I wish Cytherea were here.” “I don’t,” said the saint on the other side. “We would have had to suffer her favourite conversation of Who had the hottest cavalier? And my answer hasn’t changed for anyone’s money. I don’t care that she was ten years my senior, Pyrrha Dve was hotter than the very fires of Hell.” “Agreed,” said God. “John, you dog.” “An absolute bombshell,” said God. He looked deeply into Augustine’s eyes, took another slug of wine, and then said in graveyard tones: “Though maybe not quite such a bombshell as your mother.”
