The cold, forest-white moonlight pierced the lingering thin mist, falling on Aiwass, as if it had turned to frost.
Even after Oswald left, he still stood there, looking at Old James. Motionless, silent, like an ice sculpture.
"—It's my problem."
Old James suddenly spoke, "I never expected that after Mr. Oswald learned about that matter, he would react so strongly."
"Which matter?"
"Young Julia. Where I come from, where I'm going... these things aren't secrets. I've told him a long time ago. I never keep such trivial secrets from those around me, just as I don't with you. But some people are not yet qualified; knowing the truth will only bring them pain or make them feel powerless... I never tell them things they cannot bear.
