Took a little different tack, not perfect to prompt but....
“God hates the sinner!” he boomed meaning to say “sin,” but the sight of her at the back of the tent had thrown him off.
He carried on, speaking fire and brimstone from the pulpit, exuding righteousness — that righteousness that had brought people to his tent for thirty years. Usually they weren’t so young as the girl in the back. Maybe that’s why he noticed her. Something about her.
“Do I know you?” he said and as the words left his mouth, he saw her mother in her face.
“You look like my father.”
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