And Margot, when they were comfortably seated on the couch again, found that she had been stung seven times, all the way down her good right arm.She had not even felt it.She finds she’s telling them this story.In a gabble, in a moan.She cannot stop telling this story, as if by telling it she could go back now just a little way along the path, and put her body between Jos and the harm that found her.Margot says, How can we stop this happening?They tell the Senator it has already happened.Margot says, No, how can we stop it happening again?There is a voice in Margot’s head.You can’t get there from here.She sees it all in that instant, the shape of the tree of power.Of course, the old tree still stands.There is only one way, and that is to blast it entirely to pieces.The man who is sent to the post office for it feels it suspiciously.But there’s no solid bulk that might indicate a homemade bomb.
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