"I cannot see it," sighed the old hobbite. "But with your hope I will hope."
"And who are you?"
"I am the abbé Frodia, more commonly called 'N° 144,' and was imprisoned for the crime of supporting Sharcoléon's vision of a better tomorrow. Much we could accomplish, or so I hoped, to heal the disorders of the world in the service of the high and ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, and Order. I could have written a book about it. In fact, I did."
"That must have been long ago, before you came here – years uncounted have passed since then."
"I have written the book in my cell," replied Frodia. "And the years are not uncounted, but are exactly seventeen years, seventy-two days, four hours, forty-six minutes, and forty seconds."
"But on what material do you write the book? With what do you write it? And how can you see to write in this sempiternal and everlasting darkness? And how can you measure the days at all, let alone so precisely?"
