“Glaciers?” she said. Her name was Rhea. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. "I cannot remain here long. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head.
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