[ Being laughed at prickles Irving unpleasantly even through the otherwise agreeable -- more so, anyway -- mood that's comfortably befallen him from the tea, because naturally, there are few things men like John Irving can't stand more than being mocked or disrespected. In any other circumstances he'd likely next be standing up so abruptly his chair would rattle loudly, and then turning on his heels to storm out of the cafe, but whatever it is that's now smoothly circulating through his bloodstream speaks louder for making him want to stay.

Inexplicably so, maybe, but Irving doesn't interrogate the impulse.

Also, he can't really argue Jack's point, much as he'd love to: Irving's already all but concluded that God is very clearly not here with them in this place. ]

Maybe so. [ Not that he's admitting Jack's right, or anything. ] But I would still thank you not to speak of God that way again. Not to me, and not in my presence.

[ Duplicity being Godless doesn't mean Irving is going to be any less of a humorless prick about it, though. ]

Do I strike you, sir, as a sodomite? [ He's not flustered, but rather, clearly getting feisty now. ] "Try men out?" Is that what you have done?