Farewell. “Everything will follow,” she said. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. Parbleu, but she was a fool. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist.
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