But Lorenzo was different from everyone else; when people reach their limits, they have a place called home to retreat to, but he had none.
Arthur could go home and confide in his late wife's photograph or cry to Eve, even if the girl might not be too fond of her father acting this way. Gawain and Percival could also return to their hometowns. Everyone present had normal social circles in ordinary human society—they all had families, except Lorenzo.
Perhaps Lorenzo once had one, but everything was erased with the fire on the Night of the Holy Arrival. Arthur was unsure of what he might do.
He just looked outside with some concern; the sky was gloomy, and a light drizzle fell.
...
The characteristic drizzle of Old Dunling fell, drenching Lorenzo, who was somewhat disoriented, sitting in a corner of the alley. The excruciating pain in his mind somewhat alleviated with the coolness of the rain.
