Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. Diane Vorsack clicked her tongue in a “tsk”. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. Sheppard, shuddering violently. The Night-Cellar.
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