Chapter 5The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The devil will come…
—Christopher Marlowe
Simon had been a very serious little boy. He liked to play with the other boys, but he avoided mischief and fights. He never got in trouble—he was never even on the receiving end of a harsh word. Not because he had a particularly refined sense of right and wrong, or a strong moral compass, but because he didn’t like to be in trouble. He intuited that it would be a pretty unpleasant experience. Just the thought of his teacher or his mother, or God forbid, his father, looking at him with disapproving eyes made his stomach churn. His face would flush, like he had a fever, and his eyes would burn. It never occurred to him that he might be physically punished. The thought of a swat to t
