“I hope you are going to Carey House. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Happy to do anything in my power. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop.
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