That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. At the Palazzo, the cook’s cook had a team of servants under him. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ***** Coconuts grew perpetually. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively.
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