20.A cold sweat ran throughout his body. The pillow and the sheets were soaked as if he was in the grip of a blood disease.
With eyes wide open, he stared at the ceiling of the room, but he probably couldn't see it.
With the palm of his hand wiped the sweat that dripped into his eyes, blurring his sight. But maybe that was not sweating. They were a few tears that got mixed up with the sweat that flowed from his forehead.
Reverend Abblepot was crying.
It was a slow and silent cry: they were tears without real pain.
Perhaps his whole body was all a tear, and therefore it was not sweating that wet the sheets; he was a kind of corpse that still does not know it is and is convinced to have a little life in the limbs.
The reverend was coming out of a nightmare.
The difficult perception of
