I told the old man thanks for his story, as he walked away, it was haunting my mind, and I got thinking sitting there, I had walked by his house a few times the day before, by a gas station where I bought some chips and coke and brought it back to the B&B so I could watched TV at night. Maybe I'll check it out later.

I sat up, took my head out from under my palm, from which my elbow was supporting. I really didn't want to leave the Tor, it was becoming like a sanctuary for me; a place to rest, and ponder on, people watching. Not many came though, not sure why, this was the best hidden secret in England, and when they did, they left soon after; the tour busses left the people off for a few hours, that is why I had to come to Glastonbury by myself. I noticed as night came, a few young adults stayed there. But the wind was getting cold, and I was not as young as I used to be to sit around like them. Up on top here you get every wind in the whole area, you had to hide by the side of the Tower. As I walked down the mound of terraces of grass, the cows were leaving to go to Chalice Hill I think, for I noticed a few over on that hill. I think they took there time. Somehow I think time stopped here; or so it seemed. And so I said good night to the equinox that was taking place, and tried not to look back at the Tor, you know, kind of like a knight thing, like Angelina would have likely done, or her knight. But I couldn't, I had to look back, that was just me.

As I got to the bottom terrace of the Tor, Angelina's diary came to my mind again. This was the 21st Century not the 12th. How could I define it in my terms, 900 years later? And why did the old man spend so much time with me telling me of the story. Then I got thinking I needed to write the story down, along with some other findings. But my mind needed to rest, and so it had to have an ending, conclusion, and it was deep as that black hole I talked about with the old man, but I was happy I had an ending, I could sleep better with it.

Chapter Twelve

The Next Day

In the morning Jason came to pick me up, it was my third day in Glastonbury. I walked around to the back of the Bed & Breakfast foundation, where a fence was, which seemed to lead into a meadow, yet it was the beginning of the Tor, and I looked up to the Tor at the Abbey Tower on top of it for the last time. It was silent, like Angelina, as if it forgot all its sins, and I'm sure it had its share, for history records much blood shed in this part of the country, and I forgot all my sins as well, as if the Tor was saying, bury the past. I suppose one gets like that in old age. And I guess we all have them. It was not judgmental to me, nor I to it, how could I be, as I said, I think it had its own sinful history, like Angelina, and buried them long ago deep within its underground vaults, if not in the underworld itself; it was the only way to survive, as it is written, "Let the dead bury the dead"?, OT. And that was the last time I saw the Tor. I never looked back, or heard from the old man again, although I tried to find his house. I'm sure I seen it, I think I seen it, but couldn't find it; and Jason on our way to the train station said he never heard the story, or for that matter, the old man. But added, he thought King Richard did come through Glastonbury around that time to pay respects to King Arthur, as did King Edward I in 1278 AD with his Queen. Jason looked out the window, and said, "That's interesting,"? never looking at me, something like the old man did when he left me and walked to the Tor.

You know, someone who is very interested in you for a moment, and you think you are getting along, and he bears his soul, or so you think, and all of a sudden are drifting away as if you do not exist, as if he does not want to be questioned anymore, or for that matter, simply has no more to say. Both Jason and the old man seem to be one of a kind.

At the station we shook hands, and he left, never looking back, and the train pulled up, and I got on. And Glastonbury was like an end to a concert no more. I was alone again.

The End of the Story of Angelina