<hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>REVEREND FRANCIS BAKER PRESCOTT | 27| PRIEST </strong></span><hr/><br/>Father Prescott's eyes went wide as he realised the line he had unknowingly stepped over, and his mind reeled as he recalled the man. He was a good fellow, even despite the vices and dark thoughts that haunted him. The man had confided some things to Father Prescott that he would never have told anyone else - surely Ms. Ezab too was unaware. He kept those words, spoken in confidence in a dark and stormy night in Iran, safely to himself. To be locked away where he kept all such confessions, away from the light of day which might judge men more harshly than they deserved. He especially didn't want it to sully Ms. Ezab's impression of her dearly departed father. Francis processed these thoughts quickly, then had to consider his own feelings.<br/><br/>One more man lost, one more warrior had disappeared from the good fight. He wondered if her father had truly been killed for such mundane reasons as politics, or if it had been reasons more sinister. The unspoken truth had a web of agents wide and deep, with connections inscrutable from the outside. It might well have been one of them who did the foul deed.<br/><br/>"My... condolences, my child. I am sorry if I dredged up any bad memories," he said, shaking his head softly. "Perhaps we may talk soon, and honor his memory together."<br/><br/>"I have been attending to my parish," the reverend said. "I had thought my travelling days behind me, but The Lord has a way of surprising us, no?"<br/><br/>Perhaps their meeting was ordained so that Ms. Ezab and he could... re-enact certain things?