“You’ve made up your mind then. About the trip.” “I have,” I say, and a new energy fills me, something akin to what drove me to Mount Sergius in the first place. It’s something close to hope. “I’m going to go.” Brother Connor touches my arm, gently, fondly. “I’m happy for you, Brother Patrick. My only worry is that you’re going now not to seek but to flee from something. Or someone.” I shake my head. “This is what I’m supposed to do. I know it. I know it like I knew I was supposed to come here almost five years ago.” “Then I am happy for you,” he says softly. “And you are certain?” “I’m
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