At our lodging there was a small garden. We had the run of it, as we did of the whole house, since our host (the owner of the house) was not living there. My inner turmoil took me to the garden, where nobody would impede the burning struggle I had ventured upon with myself until it was settled. You knew the outcome, but I did not: only that I was becoming sick with health and dying with life, aware how evil I was and unaware how good I was shortly going to be. So off I went into the garden with Alypius close behind. My solitude was not impaired by his presence, and how could he leave me in such a state? We sat down as far as possible from the buildings. I was raging in spirit, indignant with tempestuous indignation that I was not entering into a pact and covenant with You, my God, for which all my bones were crying out, singing its praises to the heavens. We do not reach that destination by traveling in ships, or chariots, or on foot, not even as far as I had gone from the house to the place where we were sitting.