“Yes, you beloved! Speak to me! Speak to me!”
“Where are we?”
“In the cathedral.”
“Is it day or night?”
“It is day.”
“Wasn’t your father here, with us, just now?”
“Yes, you beloved.”
“His hand was on my hair?”
“You felt it?”
“Oh Freder, while your father was standing here it seemed to me as though I heard a spring rushing within a rock. A spring, weighted with salt, and red with blood. But I knew too: when the spring is strong enough to break out through the rock, then it will be sweeter than the dew and whiter than the light.”