“They say that at Thomas More’s trial, Master Secretary here followed the jury to their deliberations, and when they were seated he closed the door behind him and he laid down the law. “Let me put you out of doubt,” he said to the jurymen. “Your task is to find Sir Thomas guilty, and you will have no dinner till you have done it.” Then out he went and shut the door again and stood outside it with a hatchet in his hand, in case they broke out in search of a boiled pudding; and being Londoners, they care about their bellies above all things, and as soon as they felt them rumbling they cried, “Guilty! He is as guilty as guilty can be!”

“Where are you going?" I asked, feeling guilty for not being able to hang out with him."To find a faerie to kill me, of course." He winked at us, then pretended to fall straight through when the faerie door opened. Even Arianna laughed as the door closed behind him.”

“Woman, where are they? Has no one judged you guilty?"She answers "No one, sir."Then Jesus says, "I also don't judge you guilty. You may go now, but don't sin anymore."If you have ever wondered how God reacts when you fail, frame these words and hang them on the wall.Read them. Ponder them.Drink from them. Stand below them and let them wash over your soul.Or better still, take him with you to to your canyon of shame. Invite Christ to journey with you back to the Fremont Bridge of your world. Let Him stand beside you as you retell the events of the darkest nights of your soul.And then listen. Listen carefully. He's speaking."I don't judge you guilty."And watch. Watch carefully. He's writing. He's leaving a message. Not in the sand, but on a cross.Not with his hand, but with his blood.His message has two words: not guilty.”

“Where are you going?" I asked,feeling guilty for not being able to hang out with him."To find a faerie to kill me,of course." He winked at us,then pretended to fall straight through when the faerie door opened. Even Arianna laughed as the door closed behind him."Where did you find that one?""I have no idea.I'm a magnet for crazies, I guess.""They must be able to sense a kindred spirit.""You're one to talk.Don't you have more hordes of the undead to lead in a glorious revolution?”

“It's okay, Harley. I'm just down the hall." He didn't say anything but I could tell he was afraid. I closed the door gently behind me and tiptoed down the hall. I stood in the kitchen, my heart pounding. I was listening for his cry, but there was not sound at all. I went back into the hall. Harley had got out of bed and put his hands under the door. His fingers were coming out from underneath. They were blue and luminous, like starfish. When I opened the door - I was careful not to scrape the skin off the back of his hands - he looked up from where he lay on the floor with saucer eyes and implored me, "I want to sleep with you." I put out my arms and he climbed into them. I carried him down the hall, in his singlet and his Kermit underpants. I put Harley down in the middle of our mattress. He curled like a kitten into the hollow.”

“They found him guilty, and brother, if Maine had the death penalty, he would have done the airdance before that spring's crocuses poked their heads out of the dirt.”