Lord, Ye Gave Me A Rare Woman,

The Colors Of Living Things Begin To Fade With The Last Breath, And The Soft, Springy Skin And Supple Muscle Rot Within Weeks. But The Bones Sometimes Remain, Faithful Echoes Of The Shape, To Bear Some Last Faint Witness To The Glory Of What Was.

The Past Is Gone-the Future Is Not Come. And We Are Here Together, You And I.

Hodie Mihi Cras Tibi, Said The Inscription. Sic Transit Gloria Mundi. My Turn Today, Yours Tomorrow. And Thus Passes Away The Glory Of The World.

The Rest Of The Journey Passed Uneventfully, If You Consider It Uneventful To Ride Fifteen Miles On Horseback Through Rough Country At Night, Frequently Without Benefit Of Roads, In Company With Kilted Men Armed To The Teeth, And Sharing A Horse With A Wounded Man. At Least We Were Not Set Upon By Highwaymen, We Encountered No Wild Beasts, And It Didn't Rain. By The Standards I Was Becoming Used To, It Was Quite Dull.

We Have Nothing Now Between Us, Save - Respect, Perhaps. And I Think That Respect Has Maybe Room For Secrets, But Not For Lies.