Once there was a saint who was very naughty. When her father came home from a hard day’s work, he removed his boots and sat in the comfy chair near the fire. “Come give your Papa a kiss,” he said. But the little saint was tired and comfy, too, and didn’t want to move. “If you want a kiss, you must come get it from me!” “You naughty little girl!” the father said. “Just for that...” we will leave the story there. She was a naughty little girl, but she wasn’t a saint yet. When we are in heaven I will tell you the rest of the story, which concludes some fifteen years before she becomes a saint, dies, and then goes to heaven and tells me a story while I am sleeping and gazing at her, wondering if she looks somewhat familiar.
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