This unexpected tumult would have been a furious temptation had its object been anywhere near or obtainable. As things were, the storm of sensation could only torment Tim like a punishment without a crime, a midnight visit from the secret police. But, unlike Mindszenty, he had no peace or strength or certainty. His reconciliation with God, he knew, was just a tar paper shack, ready to be blown to bits while his cries went unheard on the wind. He closed his eyes and prayed for help. “From the look on your face I’m guessing you don’t like to travel.” Major Brillam was standing over him. “Sir?”
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