Carole was gracious. “You don’t do so badly. They tell me Mick Kelly’s throwing too-ra-loo-ras in your direction.” “Mick’s swell,” Betsy agreed. “I like him a lot. He’s got ideas.” “Well, don’t let him get away with them.” Carol’s eyebrows arched.

But familiarity with Solomon (fae/faer/faers)’s previous work led me to believe this would not be simply (for lack of a better phrase) torture porn.

The screeching of brakes, the monotonous blare of motor horns, the clip-clip of shoes on slippery pavements, the rustling of wet mackintoshes were all part of the great metropolis.

This is certainly using a Lesbian rule, to adapt Christ in such a way as to bring Him into accord with Aristotle, rather than Aristotle with Christ.