\" He mumbled, his eyes on her breasts. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Melusine got to her feet and, tucking her shoulder under his arm on the uninjured side, put her arm about him to hold his waist, and thus contrived to take most of his weight. ” She sat quite still looking at him. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. “My wife. You know how stubborn they get. ” Her father declared there had been no difficulty. If only we are not divided. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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