known her. We both saw her freeze still to the core with horror. Horror not ofwhat I was doing.

But of what I was.

I can't take any credit for what happened then. It was only an impulse, a spasmof the emotions, a sudden and unexpected clarity of vision. Can a single flashof decency redeem a life like mine? I don't believe it. I refuse to believe it.Had there been time for second thoughts, things might well have gonedifferently. But there was no time to think. There was only time enough to feelan up welling of revulsion, a visceral desire to be anybody or anything but myown loathsome self, a profound and total yearning to be quit of the burden ofsuch memories as were mine. An aching need to just once do the moral thing.

I let go.

Bobbing gently, the swollen corpus of my past floated up and away, carrying withit the parasitic Corpsegrinder. Everything I had spent all my life accumulatingfled from me. It went up like a balloon, spinning, dwindling ... gone. Leavingme only what few flat memories I have narrated here.

I screamed.

And then I cried.

I don't know how long I clung to the fence, mourning my loss. But when Igathered myself together, the Widow was still there.

"Danny," the Widow said. She didn't touch me. "Danny, I'm sorry."

I'd almost rather that she had abandoned me. How do you apologize for sins youcan no longer remember? For having been someone who, however abhorrent, is goneforever? How can you expect forgiveness from somebody you have forgotten socompletely you don't even know her name? I felt twisted with shame and misery."Look," I said. "I know I've behaved badly. More than badly. But there ought tobe some way to make it up to you. For, you know, everything. Somehow. I mean--"

What do you say to somebody who's seen to the bottom of your wretched andinadequate soul?