The Outskirts of the Round Table

The boisterous knights sat silent. Mere minutes ago the hall was filled with the roar of laughter, the slamming of goblets, validation of stories told by the thumping of fists against wooden tables that had seen better days.

He examined the details of the wood intently – wood that likely hasn’t been examined since the great days of Lancelot. Not far from his goblet was a small crevice a half inch deep, probably from a knife being stabbed through the table (either in a fit of rage or as some proof of power). It starkly bore witness to a braver knight that once sat in his very spot at the table. What could have prompted that knight to drill his knife into the table with all of his might, he wondered. What zeal he must have had in battle! 

Whoever that spontaneous and brash knight was from the past, his absence was missed by those who sat in the hall this Christmas day. He would have seized control of the green giant who barged into the court and uttered an impossible quest. The alleged greatest knights in the land were gathered around the hall, but not a single one rose from his seat or dared touch his sword. The knights who swore allegiance to King Arthur to lay down their lives for him would not do the simple task asked of them. Just one of them had to chop the head off of that giant and have the favor returned a year later. Then, the feast would resume.

He continued to stare at the table, praying the giant would not make eye contact with him. Oh, if his lady would see him now! He imagined her embarrassment crushing down on his shoulders because of his fear, but could she blame him for his inaction? If he accepted the knight’s challenge, he and his love would be no more. No more reading poetry to her by moonlight, or exchanging sweet kisses under the run-down bridge near the forest. No more –

“I’ll accept your challenge.” The knight shot up from his place at the table as all eyes frantically turned towards the voice. No. The king, hobbling towards the monster from his place at the table, cannot possibly be the one to accept the challenge. 

The knight cleared his throat. He did not possess the courage to fight this fool but his loyalty to his king surpassed his own selfish desires.

N- He opened his mouth to form the letter, but not a sound escaped his lips. His words were choked by the thick tension in the air. He felt like his lady was standing in front of him, watching, which somehow both depleted his courage and inspired him to advocate for his king.  N-

“I shall complete the task, Uncle,” an assertive voice said from the other side. The knight looked up and sighed. It was the honorable Sir Gawain who walked towards the king and snatched the sword as if it was his birthright, severed the head in one swift motion as if it were his destiny. Hastily, the beast-of-a-man picked up his head and rode away into the night.

The knight was right – the moment the door slammed as the horse hastened away with its headless owner the usual noise of the hall resumed. Though his wish was correct, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt that the honorable Sir Gawain would meet his fate in a year’s time. He wasn’t a friend of Gawain by any means, yet he did not harbor any ill will against that honorable knight. It was this idea, the knight supposed, that Gawain moved with such poise – as if he was truly born to do this. It was the quasi-divine ability Gawain had to be noble at the right moment yet do it so effortlessly. He likely never quivered at the mere thought of the battlefield, or felt a pang at the sight of a bleeding enemy. He still remained to always be courteous, especially towards women, as if it were his natural inclination. 

These were qualities of Gawain, but not the ones that were the root of our knight’s guilt. 

This was supposed to be his day in the sun, and the knight had failed to live to those expectations.

***

It was a June day, six months after the green knight disturbed King Arthur’s court. The knight had lived in fear and guilt since that day. He redoubled his prayers and constantly sought consolation from the local priest (whose advice escaped his mind the moment he left the church). He was near silent when amongst the other knights. He would scarcely acknowledge his lady when she walked past him on the street despite her sighs of sorrow and concern for him. He was by all accounts miserable, which was why he brought a few belongings, mounted his horse, and left the village in the midst of the unforgiving sun’s heat. 

The unbearable sun felt proper – the scalding heat relentlessly scorned his cowardness. The dull weight of his armor reminded him of the guilt he carried around as well. The trees were the only ones to show him mercy by offering the knight some shade from the elements.

As the day drew to its end, the knight desperately wanted to wander, but he could not inflict his punishment on his trusty horse. For if he responded to the call, would not have his horse obeyed without hesitation?

Taking off his armor, the knight surrendered his safety for the night to nature and her elements. He took a morsel from his loaf and ate it slowly, savoring it. The savoriness of the crust reminded him of the first time he met his lady. The knight had stood outside the baker’s shop, waiting for the owners to come. She had been walking out of the local church, and attempting to be a courteous knight, he had called out, “Good day!” to her. 

He recalled how the lady had stopped, confused. “No thank you, sir.”

“No thank you, my dear lady? Are gentle manners not accepted in this village?” he replied (in a slightly cheeky tone). 

The lady crossed the street, looked intently at him, then laughed. “Oh, I ask for your forgiveness, sir. I thought you were a peddler, a peddler of this shop.”

The knight then laughed too. “No, I am merely waiting for the merchant of this shop to come, as I am hungry for bread.”

The lady nodded thoughtfully. “We shall all strive for our daily bread,” she agreed. “And, God-willing, our daily bread tastes good as well. Anyway, good day sir. I shall see you around, I presume.” As she walked away, the knight doubted that he would see her again.

But he did, and the very next day in fact. The lady had stopped him in the middle of the town square and said, “Sir! Sir! I have your daily bread!”

He stuffed the remainder of the bread away as the taste suddenly turned sour with remorse. The knight could not bear to tell his lady goodbye when he left the village, so he didn’t. There were many things he could not bear to tell her. Sitting alone at his makeshift fire, he wished that he would have told her. 

Just as confidence evaded him on the battlefield and at the mead hall, confidence also fled from him in the arena of courtly love. 

No, not this time, thought the knight. He gazed upon the constellations. They would be his parchment. The soft breeze would be his messenger. And his voice would be the ink necessary to compose a love letter to his lady. 

“Dear love,” he whispered. “Dear love, I pray you know that when I see you, even for a moment, a glimmer of glory shines within my heart, and radiates the coldness of my own form. Surely you must be sent from Heaven because only a divine figure could have enough mercy to look upon a savage like me. To see you is to fulfill my life, to serve you would gratify my eternity…”

Sleep overtook the weak knight as the stars received the beginning of his ballad.

***

The sun was kind the next morning as its warm rays woke up our knight. For a brief moment, the knight basked in the glories of the early morning: the dew refreshed him, the birds serenaded his rising –

Then he remembered. Then he remembered and his body grew as cold as the winter solstice. It would be another day wallowing, wandering away from his shame, his lady — his life. Although he felt no hunger from his overnight fast, the knight reached into his satchel for a morsel of bread.  He undeservingly tore off a hunk of bread. When he looked back up, he noticed another knight standing in the distance. This knight appeared small and alone. Not lonely, like him, but just without his army.

“Good day, sir!” cried out the knight. The Other Knight was unresponsive because of the distance or perhaps indifferent towards the salutation. The cowardly knight, attempting to be chivalrous (and peaceful) assumed the former and shouted the greeting louder for a second time. He paused. The Other Knight stood completely still.

Well, our knight attempted to be diplomatic. Many of Camelot’s knights would have done the same. Some of the weaker knights at the round table had an unspoken rule of speaking first to the enemy before striking. They told themselves it was practicing the mercy of God, allowing their opponents to repent of their ways before striking them. It was, they repeated to themselves, being a true gentleman to all they encountered. Being a true courtly knight. The quieter truth that tormented them in the solitude, the darkness, and the wanderings was their unwillingness to fight with the sword as they were taught, even if their lives would suffer. It was a betrayal to their forefathers, this martyrdom of their fear. But they assumed if they kept it quiet enough (which was seldom a problem for the weak knights), the braver knights would remain none the wiser. If they were none the wiser, the weak knights’ cowardice would not be relayed to the aging king. 

Resuming his bread, the knight was grateful he did not have to broach his lameness this day. Other Knight did not seem to pose a threat. The knight munched slowly, observing the ground nearby to his left as he ate. With eyes downcast, he thought about the other knights who were no doubt sharing breakfast with one another, murmuring about secrets and their ladies and worth –

The knight stood up straight, breathing. He could no longer think of that light. He had to look ahead, move on. He looked up and –

Other Knight stood face to face with him now.  In shock, the knight from Camelot hastily greeted him for the third time but without a response.

The scared knight examined his counterpart to decide his alliance. Other Knight was taller than he assumed, but not as tall as him. The coat-of-arms on his armor was unfamiliar. His boots shined a dark forest green. His eyes were dark and weathered, the knight feared. Weathered, like he had seen and endured much.

“I am a knight of the Round Table!” the knight warned the stranger. Again, he made no response. Perhaps this was a common mannerism from his culture. If it was, our knight ignorantly ignored it.

“One of King Arthur’s men?” he added sheepishly. The Other Knight did not respond again. The knight from Camelot began to panic – all of his verbal combat skills were employed without avail. He would have to battle this man, and he was unsure he could do –

Then it happened. It was so quiet that if the birds chirped any louder, you would have missed it. The Other Knight chuckled. A low, gravelly chuckle accompanied by this whisper: “You and I both know the weight of that title is diluted with each passing day.”
As The Other Knight continued to chuckle, a smile emerged from his lips. His smile should have appeared malicious, but it carried such a sweetness that it put the knight at ease. 

Our own knight felt like his own armor had been stripped away: he was vulnerable, unprotected, weak. Only his true merits were at his disposal:  fear, cowardice, and unrequited love for his lady. “Please don’t kill me,” he said meekly. “I have a lady back in Camelot, and I love her very much. I don’t deserve her, but if you let me live I’ll be a better knight to her. Maybe even marry her.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the knight felt ridiculous, appealing to Other Knight by love. It only really solidified what  The Other Knight had said about the reputation of Camelot. But the Other Knight smiled, a genuine smile this time. “I have a wife,” he said. “And I love her very much.  There is nothing more important than fidelity in this life. To loved ones, kin, to your king.” He paused. “You don’t remember who I am, do you?”

Our knight shook his head after considering for a few moments.

“Oh, probably for the better or else you would be halfway back to Camelot by now. You only saw me once before.” Suddenly, The Other Knight began to morph: his stature grew, his armor gleaned the same shade of green of his boots, a helmet guarded what would be, our knight believed, what would be a hideous face. It was the monster from the mead hall!

The knight’s face betrayed his fear. The Green Knight anticipated his fear and gripped the knight’s shoulder, hard, to prevent any sort of escape. “I’m not here to hurt you. I received word from you last night. I come in good favor.” 

“W– word? What word,” our knight stammered.

“Well, it wasn’t meant for me,” the Green Knight admitted. “But I can help you.” The Green Knight used his free hand to motion towards the sky. As his hand swept in the air, stars began to twinkle in the daylight sky. A soft breeze carried a whisper: “Dear love…”

Our poor, confused, knight gazed up in wonder. Why, the very words he was hearing through the breeze was his letter to his lady! Once the letter was concluded, the stars danced to form a constellation of his lady. How beautiful it was to see her figure formed by the stars, her hair glowing with celestial light, her smile appearing divine, like her. He stood gaping, he could stand there for hours, adoring the figure that appeared to be his lady.

“I told you,” the Green Knight whispered softly. “I have a wife whom I adore. Nothing means more to me than doing right by her.” He moved his hand again in the same sweeping motion to dismiss the remnants of the love letter. The knight flinched, as if the removal of the stars physically pained him.

“You don’t need the constellation,” the Green Knight said knowingly. “You want your lady. You yourself said that you wanted to marry her?”

“Yes, I mean, if she would have me, but she may not–”

“Aha!” the Green Knight exclaimed. He stepped away from our knight and began pacing. “That’s your problem,” he said, wagging his finger. “You live in constant fear of everything –”

“Yes, I know!” the cowardly knight whimpered.

“That’s not the real problem though,” the Green Knight interjected. “Your real problem is–” (at this point the Green Knight stopped his pacing and stared our knight directly in the eyes) “You live in constant fear and will not let anyone or anything take over that fear. You prioritize fear more than anything else. Yes, this makes you an inefficient knight, (which our knight flushed red at) but this destroys your lady. She believes your inability to act means that you don’t love her.”

“But I do love her!” the knight weakly protested.

“But she doesn’t know that! And her parents believe she should make a more suitable match soon if you do not act!” the Green Knight exclaimed.

Then, the clearing stood utterly silent. Even the birds seemed dumbfounded by what the Green Knight said. The silence scourged our knight with memories of his lady looking at him longingly, her dazzling blue eyes, but when he looked into those dazzling blue eyes he caught sight of his own reflection and would turn away quickly. He thought he was rejecting himself by turning around, but now he realized how much harm he must have afflicted on his lady! He was rejecting her, and rejecting the notion of them ever being with each other. The knight’s chest burned with guilt, it burned with more guilt than he had ever felt before. Surely this rage inside of him had to be a purgatory for his actions. His voice bubbled up inside him, being pushed by all of his fiery guilt. He fell down on his knees and shouted, “What must I do? How can I win my lady back?”

After he had said this, the knight slowly rose up, aware of the bold thing he had just done. He grasped at his throat, the same throat that made such a loud sound mere seconds before. 

The Green Knight smiled at him. “Well done,” he said graciously. “You are well on your way to winning her back. You’ve finally decided to stop running.” The Green Knight pulled out a piece of fabric. It was a green silk girdle with fancy embroidery. “Examine this,” he said. The knight took the girdle from the giant’s and ran its cooling fabric through his fingers. The stitching on the girdle was immaculate, thought the knight (although his lady would have been able to articulate what made it so immaculate). The green was the color of rich emeralds and the gold embroidery was just as regal. 

“It’s quite impressive, sire,” the knight said, handing the girdle back to the Green Knight.

“That it is. The finest work of Morgan le Fey,” the Green Knight agreed. “You see, this girdle will be quite precious to Sir Gawain in a short time. 

Our knight trembled at the name of the knight who would suffer the blow for the sake of Camelot.

The Green Knight noticed how the knight’s face paled at the mention of Gawain. “For fear that you would die of grief,” he sighed. “I may as well tell you that Gawain will not perish. But I tell you this expecting that you will guard this secret with your life. I command that you do not even speak to the other knights of the Round Table until these events unfold. If you are able to keep this secret.”

“Yes, sire.”

“That girdle – you are to make identical girdles. As many as you possibly can until Gawain returns from his meeting with me.”

“But –” 

“If you do this perfectly, and devote yourself to this task wholeheartedly, you shall find your worth at the Round Table.”

The knight opened his mouth to protest, but the Green Knight dissipated into the wind as the breeze carried away the remaining forest green particles. Our knight tried to make a noise to protest, but from his mouth came no sound. When the Green Knight left, he took the knight’s voice with him! 

***

Reduced to silence, the knight was unsure what he should do. Yes, he knew that he should follow the Green Knight’s instructions, but he did not know how to embroider nor to obtain the necessary silk for the girdle. Worse, he could not even ask for help because of his absent voice. 

His thoughts turned back to the one who relieved him yet was a cause of his woe: his lady. Although our knight prized his lady’s love more than all else, in their village she was known for her tailoring skills. Some of the regional nobility would request her assistance for their attire because of her skills. The knight was ashamed to ask for her help, especially after his abrupt departure, but he had little hope otherwise. 

Embarking on his horse, he headed towards his village, praying to the Blessed Mother that his lady too might be merciful like she was.

***

It took our knight a day’s time to return to his village. His nerves, however, made the pilgrimage feel much longer. While he wished to behold the beautiful sight of his lady once again, the knight fretted about everything — the girdles, apologizing, being reduced to silence – for the entire journey. By the time he reached the seamstress shop, his hands were barely able to hold the reins on his horse because of their intense trembling. 

He breathed, remembering the words of the Green Knight. He would have to be brave, just for a little while, in order to be at peace. After losing courage so many times before, the knight prayed he could maintain it for a small moment.  The knight disembarked his horse and straightened his armor before pushing the door slightly ajar.

“Hello?” called a sweet whisper from inside.

The tenderness in her voice usually brought the knight closer. He usually gravitated towards the sweetness of his lady and her kindness. But now he felt too ashamed to venture forward. He thought this was a mistake as his old habit of fear crept up his shoulders and tensed them as if to say you cannot escape us.

“Hello, might I be of assistance?” his lady called out again. Fear had not only tensed our knight, but it now also controlled his feet as he stepped away from the door and onto the dirt road. 

His lady, however, was a pious lady, and her faith won over the knight’s fear as she walked towards the door, steps light and her wood prayer beads jingling. She opened the door and cried, “My lord!”

The knight turned around and beheld the vision that was his lady. It had only been mere days since he saw her last. Yet, after his conversation with the knight, it felt like he was truly seeing her for the first time. Her blond tresses, partially concealed by a plain gray scarf, seemed to retain the heavenly sunlight in the sky. Her matching gray apron and dress engulfed itself in the soft breeze, the fabric shifting to the wind’s command. Her cheeks flushed pink at the sight of him. Her divine smile remained, but the knight saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. The knight knew the sorrow was from him. He tried to say something, but only huffs of air escaped his mouth. 

“Why did you go? Oh, why did you abandon me for the better part of this year?” his lady cried. “My father –” his lady stuttered and her cheeks flushed redder. “My father wishes to disregard my devotion to you and promise my hand to a man three villages away.” She stepped closer to her knight, waiting for his response. As she looked expectantly, the knight felt inflamed with her words. His lady was devoted to him; oh, how the mighty Lord had answered his prayer! The letter he wrote in the sky must not had been in vain –

But his cursed sin! He had no voice to reply, to reciprocate the love she offered. And what could he even say to defend himself? How could he argue with her father? What kind of father promises his jewel to the coward of the kingdom?

His lady, once pierced with vulnerability in her blue eyes, turned slightly away. She sighed and said, “Even now you don’t have anything to say. Perhaps I misheard the words you spoke to me. Perhaps I didn’t understand the true meaning of the time we spent together. Now, I wish you a farewell.” She fully turned away towards the shop and turned away from him.

The knight’s heart burst aflame with anger. He could not let his lady walk away forever and marry someone else! Without thinking, the knight dashed into the storefront after his lady. He examined the fabrics she had – wools, cottons, ah, yes, the silks – and rummaged to find a green silk.

“What in the heavens –” his lady exclaimed. The knight, ignoring the obvious spectacle he created, continued to search, tossing aside silks of the wrong color, until he stumbled upon a dark forest silk. Serendipitously, it was the precise shade of green from Morgan le Fey’s girdle. He held it up triumphantly.

“You wanted to see my silks?” she asked dryly and evidently dismayed at the flood of fabrics that now covered the shop.

The knight nodded, held up the silk again, and fashioned it around him like a girdle.

“What are you doing? And speak,” his lady said, the sweetness of her voice evaporating with the presence of impatience.

The knight shook his head.

“You do not speak to your lady?”

He shook his head again.

“Do you hear your lady and choose to refuse her?”

The knight looked at her earnestly, praying to the Blessed Mother that his lady might understand. His eyes pooled as he shook his head.

Her tender heart imprinted the knight’s sadness upon it. “You cannot speak,” she whispered, and this time our knight nodded slowly in reply. “Oh dear.” She pulled out her beads and knelt down, suddenly indifferent about the mess. Silently she prayed for a couple of minutes. The knight watched intently his lady squeeze her eyes shut and murmur her prayers fiercely, clutching her ever-present beads while doing so.

Once her prayer was complete, she rose up and looked at her beloved. “Why you have been cursed with silence is beyond my comprehension. I will, however, do as you wish, if I may help you atone for your wrongdoings.” She took the silk from the knight’s hand. “The silk you, um –” his lady gestured at the ground. “Fiercely sought, was bought from a merchant four solstices ago. My father travelled a distance to procure new textiles, and a mysterious but talented merchant told my father this silk was spun from enchanted creatures.” She chuckled softly. “I am not one to believe in superstitious tales like those, but there might be a reason why not one person has chosen this silk since. Perhaps it was meant for this moment here.” She smiled and took the knight’s hand.

Unable to communicate the fullness of what his lady’s words meant to him, the knight kissed her cheek softly.

***

For six months, the knight and his lady worked endlessly. They made girdles constantly – prayers, meals, and sleep were the only reasons for pause. His lady was patient in teaching the knight how to sew. By the feast of Christmas, the knight actually grew a love for sewing, and the details on his gold embroidery nearly rivaled his lady’s. Mimicking the embroidery on the original girdle took extreme patience and endurance, and the knight was willing to use those virtues to create the girdles. The embellishments he would add reminded him of constellations he saw with the Green Knight; his embroidery was a love letter to his lady. Each stitch, each poke of the needle silently testified the love that burned in his heart for her.

During those months, the knight was fairly reclusive. He seldom saw the other knights of the Round Table – how would he explain what happened to him without his voice? There was one moment, however, that he did seek out the other knights: our knight heard that All Hallow’s Eve would be the final knight Sir Gawain had in Camelot before his quest to find the Green Knight. That evening in the mead hall, King Arthur offered a banquet in his honor. Towards the conclusion of the banquet, after Arthur retired from fatigue, our knight sought out Gawain. Without context, the knight knelt before Gawain and bowed his head in gratitude.  Even though he knew Gawain would be spared, the knight still admired Gawain’s zeal and aspired to be that brave. God-willing. 

The knight rose and left the mead hall as quickly as he entered. Beginning the feast of All Saints, he made constant novenas with his beads. Noticing but unsure as to why, his lady quickly joined his novena, her prayers heard aloud while his only by the ears of God. They continued their prayers until one day, shortly after Christmas, his lady noticed a seemingly dejected Gawain off in the distance.

“The honorable Gawain has returned!” she cried. “And returned with a head!”

The knight, finishing another girdle, placed down his needle and walked out to the street. There he was, in the flesh, Gawain! But his lady was right – his usual courteous countenance was replaced by a downcast head.  Our knight examined closer. He was wearing the very girdle the Green Knight had shown him! 

The other knights ran up to see Gawain. “Honorable, good Sir Gawain!” they cried, relieved their best warrior had returned from the death mission. “Worthy, worthy knight! We shall run and tell your uncle of your marvelous return!”

“Alas, I am not as worthy as I seem,” Gawain sighed. He adjusted his girdle and said, “I have failed to maintain a promise, and I shall remember it forever.”

The other knights stood confused and bewildered. They were unsure what to say – their bravest knight admitted to imperfection. Our knight looked at the dejection in Gawain’s eyes – Honorable, Good Gawain who was a leader in conquest but now served as a leader in humility.  There is nothing more important than fidelity in this life, the knight recalled from his encounter with the Green Knight. Here was Gawain, the model of fidelity, who genuinely believed he was untrue. Yet he did the deed that the rest of them refused to – that our knight – could not do. So, the knight displayed the only fidelity he could. He wasn’t able to display fidelity to his kingdom through combat, but he could through solidarity with Gawain’s guilt. He motioned to his lady and held up his girdle, then motioned towards the door. His lady, who had grown accustomed to his signing, nodded and rushed inside. Our knight slipped the girdle he just completed and stepped forward.

“Gawain,” he croaked, and all the knights looked at him. This was the first time they saw him – heard him – since the last solstice. “I had a vision to create girdles,” he said, his voice rasping from months of resting dormant.  “As many as I can, like yours. You wear yours out of shame. I too wear mine out of shame of being a coward.”

His lady returned with all the girdles they had completed and stood amazed, hearing her knight speak. 

“I have been a coward,” he continued. “In battle, but most of all, with my lady.” He turned and looked at her, the angel who had suffered such a fool like himself for all this time. Not once had she complained, and even now she smiled as she distributed the girdles to the other knights. “Looking at you, Sir Gawain, you have shown me what it means to be a knight of Arthur. And that is something I cannot do. But be assured as long as you wear your girdle, I shall don mine as well.”

The other knights nodded because our knight’s speech spoke how they felt as well – they too wore the girdles to admit their unspoken cowardice. “Hooray for Sir Gawain!” they cheered.

The knight stepped away from the cheering cohort and took his lady by her hand, indifferent to any potential looks from passerbyers. He led her back inside the tailor shop and knelt down in submission. Not letting go of her hand he said, “My lady, you must be sent from Heaven to suffer such a fool as me for this long. I am unworthy of your hand in marriage – I am nothing but a failed knight, but I would promise you my complete devotion until the end of my days… if you would have me.”

The lady listened intently to our knight’s blubbered speech and knelt down. “You have my devotion forever,” she whispered. The knight stared into her blue eyes, those dazzling blue eyes, and saw his reflection in the blueness. Now, seeing himself within the reflection of his lady’s eyes did not frighten him. It filled him with hope for forgiveness. 

***

The rest of the knights of that generation wore the girdles proudly as they learned from Gawain how to be courageous during battle. Our knight wore his proudly, but as a tailor. He resigned himself from the court, promising to mend all the knight’s attire as atonement for his actions (Arthur only heard half of what our knight said but readily agreed). For the latter part of his days, our knight was found living with his lady, married with children running throughout his shop all the day long. The story of Gawain circulated around their village, but he and his lady seldom discussed it. After all, they never discussed it once all those months creating the girdles.

Each night when he prayed before he went to bed, our knight (rather, our tailor) stared at the stars in the sky. He thanked the good Lord for that awful creature that led to his undeserved redemption, that through humiliation he received his lady for all the days of his life.

THE END