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…the entrance hall of the Maze. … They looked carefully at the bronze doors, trying to choose. … The uncertainty of visitors is one of my little pleasures. … “It’s easy to get lost,” I said helpfully. “This can be a sinister place.” The sun glared at me through the gateway. … Something was ringing behind one of the doors. They spent some time trying to decide which door it was, not understand- ing that the silences of the Maze are as eloquent as the sounds. … “Decisions, decisions,” one said. “Too many decisions.” … “The story of my life,” said another. … “We don’t want to be late,” said a third, opening one of the doors. … “Nary a soul to be seen,” said the first, peering into the gloom. … I waited patiently for them to choose which way to go . . . into . . . |
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