Robert Griffin lives in rather a sumptuous looking house just on the outskirts of Mission. Of course next to the mansion it looks like a shack, but the little house I grew up in with my Dad would also look like a hut next to this place. Rather than turn onto the driveway, we park at the roadside.
"Coming?" he says to us.
"I think I will", says Francois. "I have a thing or two to tell the distinguished gentleman."
Robert Griffin greets us, grim face at the front door. Silently he invites us in. It is a lovely, spacious and immaculate home, very tastefully decorated. We are in the sitting room, and Robert comes out with a tray of four steaming mugs of coffee with elegant containers for sugar and cream.
"Let me begin", he says, sitting down in an armchair, by telling all of you, especially you, Father Francois, how dreadfully and awfully sorry I am, and how wrong I was in our last visit. Especially the nasty racist remarks I made to you, Father Francois. Please, can you forgive me?"
"We are brothers in Christ, Robert", he responds stirring cream and sugar into his coffee, making an ominous tinkling music while stirring with a silver spoon...
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