Sebastian traveled at seventy, eighty, then one-hundred down the freeway. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil. “Why come after me after all these years, Sebastianus? Haven’t you found any sycophants to convert, any nubile young nymphets to bring into the cannibal flock?” “Why should I do that if there is still the chance of you?” “What if there could be no chance of me? How do you know you can have me?” “I see your game. There was no one at home, and I was coming away when I saw that the door was open.
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