Chapter Eleven
There Are No Accidents
It’s not that I had thought Klaus infallible, not that I was convinced that he’d worked everything out ahead of time, that he was playing multi-level chess, confident of his own logic and the inevitable endgame.
Yes: I had accepted him as my Master—pleaded for the privilege of serving him, really.
But that didn’t mean that I thought him incapable of mistake or miscalculation.
No.
Not quite.
He was an eminent Post-Skinnerian Behaviorist; he was a respected scholar; he held an endowed chair at the university in Berlin.
He was . . . well endowed; he radiated a degree of personal and s****l magnetism I had simply never encountered before; he . . . did things to me that I had simply never experienced before.
I had trouble deciding whether or not he
