He reached into his blue cloak and drew forth a dagger, then extended it to her.
She did not even look at him.
“I hold in my hand a dagger,” he persisted. “I implore you, madam—you should not ignore this opportunity. The years do not mellow a hurt such as yours; they can only pour salt upon it and enflame it further. That course leads to obsession, and obsession always destroys. And I do not wish to see you destroyed, as your husband was destroyed. Please ... take the weapon.”
Finally, she said, simply, “I will not, ferryman.”
He waited for her to say more and when no more was forthcoming, he added, “My name is Dravidian. And I did not come here as a ferryman, but as a man. See? I wear colorful clothes, just as you—”
“To me you can only be the ferryman—servant to the Lucitor, part of
