And he could not, then, blame himself too much at redressing some of that grievance now. A little balance in the world, please.
It was the only teaching he thought he understood. The others (admit it, admit it!) had escaped him entirely. Furenthe was what he would always be. Apprentice. Lata the Furenthe. Furenthe Imagemaker.
`And so he lowered himself down. What more can I tell you at this point? Do you wonder what he touched there? Do you wish me to describe the bottom of his well? Do you anger that I have kept you waiting so long to know? Seekers of ends are fools. ‘
“I think it’s still under there, Fred.”
“Okay, then, you look under your end of the car and I’ll look under my end of the car, and we should see it if it’s still there, okay?”
The author would like to dedicate this work to his wife without whom it would not have been etcetera. . . .