"Ah--I think we're in Advent already; it comes swift on the heels of my birthday, and that's passed," says Laertes. By now, they've reached the lake shore, and Laertes lets go of Sagramore's hand to begin peeling off his clothes. "In truth, I find myself more irreligious with every passing day. Yule evening has little savor for me, unless it's to make a fine meal for all of my friends and to sit around a bonfire singing."