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: Passion, you see, can be destroyed by a doctor. It cannot be created.
: There is now, in my mouth, this sharp chain - and it never comes out.
: When Equus leaves, if he leaves at all, it will be with your intestines in his teeth - and I don't stock replacements.
: That's what his stare has been saying to me all this time: 'At least I galloped - when did you?'
: All right! The normal is the good smile in a child's eyes. There's also the dead stare in a million adults. It both sustains and kills, like a god. It is the ordinary made beautiful, it is also the average made lethal. Normal is the indispensable murderous god of health and I am his priest.
: Worship all you can see, and more will appear.
] Martin Dysart
: Afterward he says, they always embrace. The animal digs his sweaty brow into his cheek, and they stand in the dark for an hour, like a sated couple. And of all nonsensical things, I keep thinking about the horse, not the boy. The horse and what he might be trying to do. I keep seeing the huge head, kissing him with its chained mouth, nudging from the metal some desire absolutely irrelevant to fulfilling its bearing or propagating its own kind. What desire could this be? Not to stay a horse any longer, not to remain reigned up forever in those particular genetic strengths. Is it possible that at certain moments, we can not imagine, the horse can add its sufferings together, the nonstop jibs and jabs that are its daily life, and turn them into grief? What use is grief - to a horse. You see, I'm lost.
: You have a special dream? Alan Strang
: No. You? Martin Dysart
: Yes - what was your dream about last night? Alan Strang
: Can't remember - what was *yours* about? Martin Dysart
: I said the truth! Alan Strang
: That *is* the truth. What was yours about, the special one? Martin Dysart
] Carving up children.
: Moments snap together like magnets forged in a chain of shackles. Why? I can trace them, I can even with time pull them apart again. But why at the start were they ever magnetized at all. Why those particular moments of experience and no others, I do not know! And nor does ANY BODY ELSE! And if *I* don't know, if I can *never* know, what am I doing here? I don't mean clinically doing, or socially doing, but fundamentally. These whys, these questions, are fundamental. Yet they have no place in a consulting room. So then do I? Do any of us?
: He won't gallop anymore, and - horses will be quite safe.
] Martin Dysart
: In an ultimate sense I cannot know what I do in this place, but I do ultimate things, irreversible things. And I, I stand in the dark with a blade in my hand, striking at heads. I need, more desperately than my children need me, a way of seeing in the dark. What way is this? What dark in this? I cannot fully ordain but God! I cannot go so far! I will however, pay so much hardship. There is now in my mouth this sharp chafe. It never comes out.