Chairs had been placed a dozen rows deep in front it. Every seat was filled and a respectful crowd stood behind the chairs and along the rotunda's rim. From her vantage along the rim, Fiona could see the grim faces in the front row, the chief mourners. Jack McGuire sat between what were obviously two of his daughters. Their arms were interlocked, an appropriately grieving trio. On either side of the daughters sat the two McGuire sons, straw haired like their father and speckled with freckles like their mother. The girls, in a genetic sex reversal, were beefier with darker hair and no freckles, with cheeks flushed with rouge circles, more like their father, although his radishy skin had been embellished by the brush of John Barleycorn. Fiona assumed that others seated in the first row and dressed appropriately for mourning were relatives. Also sitting in the first row as if he, too, were a member of the family, was an ashen faced Harlan Foy. Their eyes had drifted toward each other, engaged, then his snapped away with a look of contempt as if Fiona's presence here was an affront to the dead lady.
What do You think about Immaculate Deception (1991)?
