The flesh is a weary vessel, and that which crumbles soon becomes a prison to the soul. Death, accordingly, is a relief. Indeed, an escape.’ She frowned. ‘But why confound a soul with the uncertainty of its immortality?’ ‘Perhaps,’ ventured Hood, ‘to awaken in us the value of faith.’ ‘And what value has faith, Hood?’ ‘Belief exists in order to humble the mundane world of proofs. If mortal flesh is a prison, so too is a world too well known. Within and without, we desire – and perhaps need – a means of escape.’ ‘An escape you name faith.
