She and Paul, her husband. They go
to Quebec every year."
"Good eating in Quebec."
"You bet," Oliver said. "She likes to dress up. They have a good time."
"Wow," George said. "I don't think my mom has bought a dress in twenty
years. Says she's too old for that foolishness."
"My mom is too old, but it doesn't stop her." He looked at the furnace.
"So, what are we doing?"
"We're set," George said. They crossed the loft, and he handed Oliver a
propane torch. "I'll turn on the gas at the main tank. You light it.
There's the blower valve." He pointed to a round handle mounted between
the blower and the pipe that led to the furnace. Oliver lit the torch
and knelt by the furnace. George stood by the propane tank. "Hope this
works. You ready?"
"Do it."
George opened the line, and Oliver angled the torch tip down into the
furnace. Nothing happened for several moments. There was a whooshing
sound, and George said, "Holy Mama!" A blue flame, the size of a beach
ball, was bouncing under the wooden ceiling joists. Oliver
concentrated. Air. He reached back and grabbed the blower valve,
twisting it counter-clockwise. Almost immediately, the blue flame
lowered.
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