I am somewhere I do not know . But the scene is a motif I recognize well: The in-side of a parrish church, by the look of it. Apparently the middle of a moonless night, it would be too dark to give my sudden confines fair description with so much as a candle. There is not so much as a candle's-worth of illumination in here. But there is enough for me to make out the forms of two people near one of the transepts. In whatever way I can be said to do so, I make my way near to them – likewise careful not to be noticed. Getting as close as I dare – for reasons I dare not consider – I can see them more clearly now. Two priests are speaking in hushed tones. As it turns out, the one who is facing me – a man with a fat face, his chins wrinkling their way down the neck of his alb like a flesh ascot – does indeed have a single candle. Its light seems dim even to my incorporeal eyes, as though the sphere of illumination were somehow smaller than it should be. “ You wrote that you hav...
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