Chapter Ninety-Eight
In a reading room by himself—although not reading, as every word on every page of every book was known to him, none of which he found particularly interesting—Eli La Paiva was suddenly struck by some disturbance in the space-time continuum, a phrase and concept he knew to be ridiculously reductive, and the disturbance itself anything but unforeseen; but it was, more or less, this: that Enid had been somehow allowed to stumble a mite too close to the end secret of all things, but fortunately, for the integrity, and modesty, of the weave of existence, she had stopped and uncoupled before the lock could be broken and the contents of Pandora’s Box re-spilt.