So Hubert was proud of himself. He’d made it as far as the part of Heaven where you get an angel and sandwiches on-demand, and shown The Lord—or Bartholomew, at least, which is who The Lord would presumably ask—he had the fortitude to withstand even the most exquisite enticement. This eternity thing was going to go just fine. As long as Bartholomew quit getting naked. But Hubert couldn’t see that becoming a problem; what kind of angel would work against him?