Kallen acknowledged Mrs. Felshev's mastery of illusions, but how should he put it? Simply "setting him aside" in the side hall showed rather little respect for his past experiences.
At the very least, Bishop Dorf, who had just been laid in his coffin and had yet to be buried, would certainly have been displeased.
Unfortunately, Bishop Dorf was as dead as could be. Otherwise, he would surely have raised his knee and kicked the coffin lid hard with his boot to vent his anger.
Everyone had their own specialties because they followed different paths, and Kallen's specialty had actually always been his soul, because any mention of his soul inevitably led back to the dog at home.
Perhaps it was because the dog had been mentioned so often that the fur on his head still refused to grow back, leaving him bald even now.
Right now, though... it really hurt.
How could Philomina have forgotten to warn him that her grandmother liked poking people in the eyes?
Had he known, he would have brought a bottle of eye drops. His eyes still felt terribly dry and uncomfortable.
He reached into his pocket, took out his cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette, and put it between his lips. As he prepared to light it with his lighter, Kallen paused.
There had been no need to bring eye drops. Even if he had taken them into the car and out again, he could not have brought them here.
Likewise, there was no point smoking these Thunder cigarettes, which he treated as "cough syrup for the soul." They were all fake.
He could probably taste them if he smoked them, since he had smoked them before, but that would be pure self-deception.
He stood up and gently rubbed his neck with one hand.