“I accept what I have done is stray from the way of my soul as opposed to getting back to it. A lot of worth has happened to the way of thinking I have assisted with rearing. That we remain here in this horrible light is itself a proof. In any case, how might I be sure that even these things are not the results of hardheadedness and imprudence?” He gazed at Beheim, his mouth working. “Do you trust I love you, Michel? In my heart it appears I love you well, and regardless of how this day closes, that won’t change. Yet, do you trust it?” “For what reason is it significant what I accept?” Beheim asked, making an effort not to gaze at Agenor, for it created the impression that something was going on to his face, that the skin was coarsening, blushing. “In the hundreds of years to come, maybe I will fail to remember you, my young companion,” said Agenor, expecting his recognizable lectoral character. “On the other hand, maybe I will not. The topic of your significance still can’t seem to be chosen. In any case, why the inquiry is significant remaining parts another issue. I might want your viewpoint on my psychological state. I understand it’s much to ask, thinking about the conditions. Yet, in any case I would—” “Indeed, it is somewhat a lot, isn’t it?” Beheim snapped. “In any case, it doesn’t matter, I’ll be glad to oblige. It’s an extraordinarily simple inquiry to reply. It requires no thought at all. Simply take a gander at yourself. In about a couple of moments you’ve gone from tasteless lament to the foolish maunderings of an old poof, and you haven’t saw something accursed that is going on to you. You’re frantic! Also, not only a tad bit frantic. You’re pretty much as distraught as that foul thing who considers himself our Patriarch!” He was burning with euphoria—something was certainly happening to Agenor. The skin was obscuring in patches, blushing by and large, the wrinkles becoming more articulated. The impacts of Felipe’s medication were at long last wearing off. At long last! Beheim was astounded that Agenor had not yet felt any aggravation. “Also, concerning whether you were ever normal, indeed, I’ll concede that all you at any point said regarding how we need to change… ” He made a criticizing commotion. “You’re living evidence of that! However, it doesn’t make any difference if mental soundness once held you, since you’ll never be normal again. You’re done as a levelheaded being. You should go hang in the trees with the remainder of the bats!”Agenor paid attention to this upheaval with a quality of haughty bemusement, similar to a grown-up enduring an irritating kid, and when Beheim fell quiet, he gave a moan where it appeared long periods of residue and tolerance were gathered, and opened his mouth to convey what Beheim may have expected to be a bombastic forswearing or a grandiose articulation of predominance; however at that point his eyes developed expanded, he contacted his cheek with a shuddering hand as though to console himself of its strength, and what gave from his mouth was no deigning babble except for a rough shout that underlying volume and pitch until it became really that full-throated of an alarmed lady. Extremely like, Beheim thought with fulfillment, how the Golden probably shouted on the eastern turret that morning when Agenor destroyed her. The elderly person fastened his hands to his face. Wisps of smoke streamed between his fingers, and the actual fingers started to rankle. He made a washing commotion, and afterward, tossing out his hands, uncovered the seared surface of his face, the temple roasting, the rankles on the cheeks burst and releasing a reasonable liquid. His hair, as well, was consuming, the pale, sunstruck blazes jumping joyfully. He dropped into a hunker, bouncing with regards to like a bedizened predominate, attempting to pull his coat up over his head, meanwhile discharging a quavery cry. The backs of his hands were crisping, the darkened skin breaking to uncover a furious redness underneath, and Beheim, without thinking why he acted, jumped across the pit and pushed him in. As Agenor’s body bankrupt through the mat of branches and hit the water with a substantial sprinkle, there was an incredible venting of steam, and when he surfaced, as yet consuming, he grabbed fiercely for the branches that had fallen in with him, endeavoring to organize them like a cover over his head. Beheim looked in the soil for the iron edge of the covered shade, grasped it, and hurled it toward the pit, fighting it sideways. “What are you doing?” Alexandra shrilled, gripping at him. “Allow him to consume! He would have killed us! Consume him!” But he broke liberated from her and moved the screen until it covered the detaining water and its anguished hostage. Alexandra got at the shade, attempting to eliminate it from the pit, and Beheim pushed her away. She screeched, infuriated, and came at him, mauling at his face.