Unformatted text preview: before. I had not even shivered in the cold of the winter. But I could not control this trembling. Indeed, it must have looked as though I were standing upon a piece of earth that was shak- ing, so violent was it, though I managed to remain on my feet. The priest drew close to me; his green eyes very much reminded me of jewels, except that they were obviously made of something soft. He reached out and stroked my hair gently, almost tenderly, and then my cheek and my beard. "It is Ashlar!" he whispered. "It is the Taltos, it is the Devil!" declared the Laird. "Heave him into the fire." The three at the hearth came forward, but my father stood in front of me, and so did the priest. Ah, yes, you can imagine it, you can well picture it, can't you? One screaming for my destruction as if he were Michael the Archangel, and the gentler ones not letting such a thing happen. And I-gazing at the fire in terror, barely aware that it could con- sume me, that I would suffer unspeakable pain if I were thrown into it, that I would be alive no more. It seemed in my ears I heard the cries of thousand...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10