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Clever (incredulous): You are a conspiracy theorist!

Owl-Chymist: God doesn’t play dice. He writes genre-literature. Predictable. Choose Your Own Adventure books. Interactive, open to multiple possibilities, but the multiple endings written down, every consequence foretold.

Clever (like most people of her time, cannot read or write): I have seen the Bishop's holy books, chained in the Cathedral. Is my story written? Told in advance of my living it?

Owl-Chymist: You? (a curled lip/beak) There is no new thing under the sun. The Truth of our doctrine is obvious, stable, and eternal. My chymical experiments bear witness.

Clever (her mind races): Are you never surprised? Astonished by the unexpected? Bewildered by experimental outcomes?

Owl-Chymist: Ah, you speak of a fashionable whimsy among modern innovators, those recusant chymists who invent hypotheses for every experiment. New notions, hastily built upon two or three experiments, are destroyed by a third or fourth. New ideas trumpeted one week are laughed at the next. A fanciful world-view.

Clever, not understanding technical talk, shrugs and opens her walnut.


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Clever’s Road - 43: GB0098