"Why, you never-" The priest stopped, frowning sharply. That madness again. Benjamin was peering at him suspiciously, and his smile had gone cold. Now, thought the abbot, he’s looking at me as if I were one of Them-whatever formless "Them" it was that drove him here to solitude. Staked, stoned, and burned? Or did his "I" mean "We" as in "I, my people"?