If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
“What highbrow work of fiction might you be reading?”
“Sixsmith, I climb the steps of the Scott monument every morning and all becomes clear. I wish I could make you see this brightness. Don’t worry - all is well. All is so perfectly, damnably well.”