He knew who she was. Honestly. And she wasn't Helena. (God, it hurt.)
He ate in silence for some moments, lost in thought. He'd read the Florentine and he'd read his Bible as a child; he knew about hell. The Christ harrowed hell, but the Pilgrim harrowed nothing; just observed, saw what he needed to see. He laughed softly. How strange, to try and find his way on to a guided tour of hell!