It wasn’t a cruelty, to pack him so, and it must have cost a fortune. The soul of honey is so dry that a body submerged in it does not decay. Adeodatus looked like a saint, his skin clear and his strong body still round and supple. His eyes were closed; I think Augustine had ordered them sealed. Eyes are brutal. Death comes into them so very quickly as the humours cloud, and I would have gone a little mad seeing the bloom of corruption in that face. It was, I suppose, the last kind thing Adeodatus’s father ever did for me, the funeral of our love as well as our son.