" XXIV My sense of how he received this suffered for a minute from something that I can describe only as a fierce split of my attention-- a stroke that at first, as I sprang straight up, reduced me to the mere blind movement of getting hold of him, drawing him close, and, while I just fell for support against the nearest piece of furniture, instinctively keeping him with his back to the window. --It is religion, Dante said again. "Quint?" "Peter Quint--his own man, his valet, when he was here!" "When the master was?" Gaping still, but meeting me, she pieced it all together. As I'm not a fiend, at any rate, I shouldn't take him in.