98.) Then evening came, and dinner came, and then Rios Montt came. Lancelot dug his proud, avuncular mustache, which made the General look like his father, a fact that pleased his father not a bit. In fact, Art looked a little bit concerned: a brooding look was hanging from his brow, the same side-glancing, muttered dim reproach that Jesus Christ once taught him to conceal. "We are the new Israelites of Central America." Forgive us, we have sinned.