After the Comma Panic of 1916, people had to make do with run-on sentences. But that wouldn’t trouble Mary. Nothing troubled Mary. Not even the sight of her eldest daughter holding up the Scepter of Gogoroth and speaking a strange sort of backward Latin in a deep animal guttural voice, pledging the baby’s soul to Satan while the elder boy distracts him. Don’t expect mom to intervene; she’s on Cloud Nervine. Her eyeballs don’t even point in the same direction anymore.