There wasn't another car in sight.I drove on across the Cob and through Porthmadog, past Criccieth with its castle overlooking Tremadog Bay. It seemed...like I was heading off the edge of the country. I knew the Kalinin was in exile from Kushtia, I hadn't realised he been exiled quite as far as he had.The sign by the side of the road said, "Abererch Centre For Meditation Studies". I turned in and parked outside a formidable, Victorian, dark stone, house of three stories. The heavy oak front door. It didn't just happen all by chance; it seemed, instead,more an act of fate.Even the act of putting the ad on the computer which led to that first guycoming to her apartment for sex, Ben, his name was, even doing somethingas defined as that, had happened in a kind of sleepwalk. Her actionsseemed to be directed by some remote intelligence that knew what sheneeded better than she did herself. She could never have consciously donesomething as potentially dangerous as that herself.What an odd way. More

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