And then he spoke loudly, pleadingly to me, in a heartbroken voice, a voice strong and masculine and perhaps even young. “You would never be my adversary, would you? You wouldn’t, would you? Not you, Lestat, no, not you!” My God. In utter agony, I was torn out of His grip, out of His midst, and out of His milieu. The whirlwind once again surrounded us. I sobbed and beat on Memnoch’s chest. Heaven was gone! “Memnoch, let go of me! God, it was God!”
