The priest went to the door, turned, and said to the High Priestess:
"Hermes' blessing on you both, as a matter of fact, as they say.
Blessings from Hermes on you both."
The High Priestess nodded regally.
"And," the priest said, "merely by the way, as it might be, without
meaning harm, if you would ask a blessing for me--Aphrodite's blessing?
Easy for you. Of course, it would be nice curing--curing, as they
say--stupidity, plain dumbness, as they call such things--curing
stupidity as easily as I can cure small ills. Nice."
"Indeed," the High Priestess said.
"But there," the priest went on. "Only the Gods can cure that. Only the
Gods and no one else. Yes. Hm. And not often. They don't do anything
like that in the--ah--regular course of things. As a matter of fact, you
might say, I've never heard of--never heard of such a case. Never. Not
one. Yet ..." He opened the door, spat: "Myrmidons!" and disappeared
into the hallway.
The door banged shut.
Forrester sighed heavily. The High Priestess turned to him.
"Feel better?" she asked.
"Much," Forrester said, dreading the ordeal to come.
The High Priestess came over to the couch and sat down next to him. She
put a hand on his shoulder. "Shall we prepare for the--sacrifice?"