They arrived at my door, and the priest said formally that he was very sorry. I could see that he was. His office forbad displays of physical affection, but his hand twitched at his side. He wanted to embrace me, to bear me up. He had lived this moment, he said. He had received the mirror of this news, and survived it, though he thought he would not, and I must come to him whenever I wished, he would do anything he could. It was not even an invitation to bed. He was begging me to know that I was not alone, and it was his agony that unleashed my own horror, that set it creeping from my spine into my heart, and then my skin, so that all the hairs stood up and I was sweating in the bright sun. I shouted at him to do the deed. Tell me.