Chapter 23

           Wehadlunch,asimpleGreekmealofgoat’s-milkcheeseandgreenpeppersaladwitheggs,underthecolonnade.Thecicadasraspedinthesurroundingpines,theheathammereddownoutsidethecoolarches.Allthetimewetalkedoftheunderseaworld.Forhimitwaslikeagiganticacrostic,analchemist’sshopwhereeachobjecthadamysteriousvalue,aninnerhistorythathadtobededuced,unraveled,guessedat.Hemadenaturalhistorysoundandfeellikesomethingcentralandpoetic;notanactivityforScoutmastersandabuttforPunchjokes.Themealended,andhestoodup.Hewasgoingupstairsforhissiesta.Wewouldmeetagainattea."Whatwillyoudo?"IopenedtheoldcopyofTimemagazineIhadbesideme.Carefullyinsidelayhisseventeenth-centurypamphlet."Youhavenotreadityet?"Heseemedsurprised."Iintendtonow.""Good.Itisrare."Heraisedhishandandwentin.Icrossedthegravelandstartedidlyoffthroughthetreestotheeast.Thegroundroseslightlythendipped;afterahundredyardsorsoashallowoutcropofrockshidthehouse.Beforemelayadeepgulleychokedwitholeandersandthornyscrub,whichdescendedprecipitouslydowntotheprivatebeach.Isatbackagainstapinetrunkandbecamelostinthepamphlet.ItcontainedtheposthumousconfessionsandlettersandprayersofaRobertFoulkes,vicarofStantonLacyinShropshire.Althoughascholar,andmarriedwithtwosons,in1677hehadgotayounggirlwithchild,andthenmurderedthechild;forwhichhewascondemnedtodeath.

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