Giovanni Battista Pamphilj had arrived following an invitation by my father. Our guest is a shrewd political beast with a miserable face. I was however inexplicably drawn to his purity and immaculate form.
Over supper his Holiness had spoken of the importance of God's countenance, the reverence and dignity one should aspire to without falter, and that we thank God, somewhat repeatedly, for bread.
I asked what good bread did when a woman of passion and verve desired fruit?
I asked was not the juice of fruit Godly made? Was not its moist engagement the doing of a great God?
The holier-than-thou edifice, this channel of reverence, had decided on Innocent X as his reference, (a pompous monaker that amused me for obvious reasons). The head of the Catholic Church reminded me that all fruit was indeed the creation of God but that fruit had much to answer for in the garden of man's creation. His Holiness then counselled me further that a woman of my grace a social standing must resist temptation should it take hold of my errant sensibilities in the future.
I informed his holiness that from now on, when tempted by the juice of fruit I would think of him.
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