Two words for you: ley lines. Ley lines? Straight lines of electromagnetic energy crisscrossing the Earth at special sites, drawing men and women—and ideas—to their mysterious pulse. We were drawn here, Temps. No two ways about it. As many have been before. That Baedeker book? You know what it said? Go on. That “even those whose usual avocations are of the most prosaic nature unconsciously become admirers of poetry and art in Italy.” Would that be so bad? To become an admirer of poetry and art? Until we figure it all out. It wouldn’t, Cress.
