The Old Man swiped his greasy rag ineffectually across the outside of a krug and set it aside to dry. "Let’s suppose for a moment that your theory is true: I imagine you and you imagine me; when we imagine one another simultaneously we engage in conversation together, undertake adventures together, together fan the embers of fellowship and scholarship — perhaps also of resentment and competitiveness — that glow perpetually in the hearth of Sir Toby’s, ever on the verge of bursting into full blaze or of extinguishing themselves entirely. Are we to regard these imaginings as mere vanities we toss into the formless void, the expression of vain hopes that distract us from the vast emptiness in which we are immersed and that fills us to the brim?" The old Sage swirled another vessel in the grease-befilmed water, emptied it, and inspected it under the dim light emitted by the single 25-watt bulb that provided the scullery’s only illumination.

Suddenly the door leading from the common room swung open and another familiar figure came into view…