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Show 245 "Well, if this thing has been bothering you maybe you'd like to talk about it," said Sorenson, the soul of tact. "It didn't bother me. I 1iked it." * * * * * * Lorin earnestly hoped nothing required the laying on of hands. He and Sorenson had had to participate in a laying on of hands the week before and he wasn't anxious to repeat it. It might not work with only the two of them. What had happened was this. There was a phone call late at night from the local branch president summoning them ten miles out of town along icy roads to the home of one of the members, whose wife had been seized by something. They arrived within the hour, their fingers numb, their mouths foul with sleep, and found the branch president and one of his councillors and two other missionaries assigned to that district sitting in the front room, talking quietly. The branch president had put his arm around the shoulders of the unhappy man, who sat staring at the floor, his hands between his knees, his whole body shaking. "Here are the other elders," the branch president said, looking up. "Glad you could come." They all knew each other, of course, and shook hands and then Lorin and Sorenson sat down while the branch president told them what had happened. Brother Heinmiller had been in the kitchen putting away the milk and eggs and preparing to let in the dog and go around locking doors, when he heard a crash from the bedroom, followed by a rapid, violent pounding against something. Supposing that his wife had fallen and injured herself he had rushed in and found her lying on the floor, on her side, next to the open closet. The bureau had been pulled over and its mirror lay shattered across the floor. The pounding was produced by her feet, which had become |