Seconds became minutes. Soon the clock chimed the Westminster first quarter, and still we sat in silence. The clock chimed the half hour. And then the third quarter. If I had been sitting there sober, I would have long since been fidgeting and trying to make conversation. But with the aid of my wine, I was uncommonly relaxed, and so was uncommonly able to slip into a semi-trance state of temporal flow. My eyes drooped, the orange glow of the fire filled my head, and time began to glide by like steel blades skimming over a crust of ice.
