THE GAME What is a shell but a little lie made solid? Three of them. Three! And under one, you say, crouches the little pearl of fortune— that pale, ridiculous pea, round as a moon and twice as smug. There it sits, perhaps, beneath the left, unless beneath the middle, unless—ah!—you have been clever enough to move it while my eye was upon your hand. Do you see me watching? You flourish your fingers like a priest blessing fools. You smile. You lean across the board with that hungry little smile which men wear when they believe they have discovered some crack in the walls of eternity. Go on. Move them. Left to right. Right to left. Round and round they scuttle, three blind little coffins for a dead man's hope. You think I am impatient? No. I have waited longer than your bloodline has had a name. I have watched kings wager kingdoms on a word, bishops wager souls on a promise, lovers wager everything on tomorrow. And you— you bring me three shells and a pea. A pea! How beautifully smal...