the South like a jackal on sickened prey.
Of course, if that blame rests on me, then my patient's injured brain allowed him to go through the different paths of time and place and visit the possible futures. And if that was true, then it must be the design of the Almighty that I could save the American lands from being divided between France and England.
And yet, the man had half his brain missing. What if he could truly wander amid time and place, but could not see clearly?
What if I caused the defeat of the South in vain? Did I betray my land for nothing?
I think and I turn and I toss. From outside my window come the sounds of bustling London where I sought refuge after defeat, and where I've lived for forty years now.
As my days draw to a close, rarely a night goes by that I don't hear that voice shouting in my dreams, "Pour it into them,