I have a message for your daughter,” said Cale. “I am bound to her with cables that not even God can break. One day, if there is a soft breeze on her cheek, it may be my breath; one night, if the cool wind plays with her hair, it may be my shadow passing by.” And with this terrible threat he faced forward, and the procession started once more. In less than a minute they were gone. In her shady room Barbell Swan-Neck stood white and cold as alabaster.

The Left Hand of God