“ In an apoplexy of rage and hatred , I thrust my riding boot out from my stirrup and kicked the burning logs . A section of the bonfire gave way and went crashing down the far side of the Ridge . I sprang from my horse and rushed to look down the hill . The burning , sizzling logs tumbled madly down the steep climb — directly toward my stable keeper ’ s cottage . Several thick fiery trunks struck a boulder farther down and launched themselves onto the thatched roof , which instantly ignited .
“ I began a mad scramble down the hill , tripping and rolling , and screaming all the way , for I realized the family had not heard the pagan ritual and was asleep in bed . The cottage became an inferno before I had stumbled halfway down the cliff , and suddenly numerous screams answered my own . I fell impotently to my knees as the roof collapsed and the logs walls were consumed by orange streamers of annihilation .
“ I was overcome with sorrow , but morning came with tasks that demanded attention . I had the remains removed from the ashes for a decent burial , and I expelled the laboring families from my land . I could not be certain which children had been involved , so prosecution would be an unseemly matter . Simply evicting some of the poor families was probably tantamount to a death sentence , but I would sanction no future tenants . Beyond all this , I knew that my own anger had caused the conflagration . Selfloathing consumed my soul .
“ A week later , my estate had been deserted , but again I felt compelled to ride out at midnight , and again there was an unholy meeting on the Ridge . Some of the blasphemers had trespassed upon my land , and they were
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