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They only understood the surfaces of things, which was why they appeared so perfect.
They stayed up until dawn just horsing around.
Villiam’s favorite daily activity was to watch people do impressions of him. This was a requirement of the servants, to fill any moment of idleness, and so they practiced as they cooked and cleaned, working continuously to come up with language and gestures, the best new joke about Villiam’s character and physical countenance.
he had a special taste for freakishness.
The priest had no sympathy for such stupid people. And yet he didn’t see the hypocrisy of his disdain, as he was stupid, too.
His red hair was unnatural, a joke color, Villiam thought.
A joke color fried me
The birth of the last Christ was so many hundreds of years ago, and there was some trepidation around celebrating while Villiam’s new wife was pregnant with the next one. This concern over tradition wasn’t any trouble at the manor—nobody there had any loyalty to Jesus Christ—but there was apprehension about the holiday in the village, as though it would be the last.
‘The son of God born in a pigpen, or what have you. Hilarious,’ Villiam had chuckled.
Insane.
There was no right way to deal with grief, of course. When God gives you more than you can tolerate, you turn to instinct. And instinct is a force beyond anyone’s control.
which distracted him from the conversation, which was not a conversation but a monologue given by Villiam. He talked simply to keep himself from falling asleep, he was so tired, following any stray thought that entered his mind no matter how dull or ridiculous. ‘I try to lead a simple life,’ he was saying. ‘Health, wealth, and wisdom. No time for horseplay. Never. We really don’t like anything trifling, do we, hmm?’ Nobody was listening.
Perhaps it is most miraculous when God exacts justice even when no human lifts a finger. Or perhaps it is simply fate. Everything seems reasonable in hindsight. Right or wrong, you will think what you need to think so that you can get by.
