There was a knock. “Who is it?” she said angrily. “Roche,” he called through the door, and she felt a wave of relief, of joy that he had come, but she didn’t move. She looked down at the clerk, still lying half off the bed. His mouth was open, and his swollen tongue filled his entire mouth. “Let me in,” Roche said. “I must hear his confession.” His confession. “No,” Kivrin said. He knocked again, louder. “I can’t let you in,” Kivrin said. “It’s contagious. You might catch it.” “He is in peril of death,” Roche said. “He must be shriven that he may enter into heaven.” He’s not going to heaven,
harsh
