From Count Andreas Petofi: Exceeding the Grasp, an autobiographical gift of letters, lore, and lyrics.  Volume XIV

The Prodigal Aristede returned from his cowardly escape to Boston to the disappointment of all.  His ignorance — which is vast — led him to believe that presenting me with a new cravat and a cask of chowder (allegedly strapped to the roof of the train) would excuse his absence.  In fact, I reveled in his lack of presence in my life!  However, I am a man of my word, and as a result of that damnably lost bet at White’s gentlemen’s club, I was obligated to take the scamp back into my cozy and loving fold.

That same evening, my attempt to liberate Dr. Hoffman with a powerful love potion failed miserably due, I believe, to an excess of tumeric.  Having caught sight of the tincture, I quickly explained it was mere poison.  Ah, what a shy youth was I.  However, it led to a discovery of titanic importance. I finally understood the secret of time travel.  At the very least, I was beginning to. In thanks to a vision of my lovely assistant, Beth Chavez, I saw that Quentin had indeed made the journey and was alive and well in 1969.  He had survived to that fantastic time.

Better yet, I had every reason to believe that Aristede had not!


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