“I understand that particular pain. Periods of change can be most upsetting, but they present the most opportunity for growth, I find. You’ll face what comes—” “Or I won’t,” I cut in. The scholiast sniffed, permitted me to lead him down the wall toward the knobby finger of Sabine’s Tower, almost a full mile around the arc of wall from the scholiasts’ cloister and the lower gardens. After a second of this progress, Gibson—in Classical English again—breathed the words, “Fear is a poison, my boy.” “Another aphorism?” I smiled my best Marlowe half smile. “Well . . . yes,” Gibson almost grumbled,
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