"What!" Foyle was thunderstruck. "He's a Skoptsy? You mean after hunting him for a year, I can't touch him... hurt him... make him feel what I felt?" He turned away from the tortured man on the table, equally tortured himself by frustration. "A Skoptsy! The one thing I never figured on after preparing that port stateroom for him... What am I going to do? What, in God's name am I going to do?" he roared in fury, the stigmata showing livid on his face.