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The crowd of people she had to squeeze among was already dense and tight; in Bremervoord people loved stories and passed up no opportunity to listen to new ones. And the sailors who visited there in great numbers never disappointed; they always had a fresh new repertoire of sea tales. Naturally, the vast majority were invented, but that didn’t make the slightest difference. A tale is a tale. And has its own rules.
The priceless writing from the Dark Ages burned with a tall, bright flame. For a few short moments the centuries spoke with the soft whisper of paper blackening in the fire. And then the flame went out and darkness covered the earth.
“Strip off everything. To the last rag.” They aren’t here, she thought, undressing and staring blankly at the floor. There’s no one here. And I’m not here either. “Legs apart.” I’m not here at all. What is about to happen won’t touch me at all. Not at all. Not a bit.
