The Almighty [antikvár]

He stared down into the open coffin. What surprised him most was that his father looked so small. The old man had always been a giant to Edward. Now, stiffly cushioned in satin, he seemed small. It was because the air of life had gone out of him, Edward realized. Ezra J. Armstead, the greatest and most autocratic press lord of modern times, had always been full of life, a force of energy, overwhelming. Now he was small and still. Otherwise, everything was in order. Maybe not the cheeks. E. J.'s cheeks were unnaturally red. The undertaker had applied too much rouge, as they always did.Turning from the coffin, another surprise. Edward Armstead felt no loss.And yet another. He felt rather good. Almost buoyant.He scanned the cascades of flowers that formed a colorful semicircle behind the coffin. There was one discordant note. On an easel sat a gaudy American flag made up of red, white, and blue carnations. It had come from the staff of the New York Record, Edward Armstead was sure. One of the employees had ( heard or read that such a floral flag had decorated William