A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. But no one could explain the disappearance of Michelle’s parents, nor could the police find a fingerprint or even a clothing fiber to trace what had happened to them. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. Ann Veronica considered her answer. I don’t believe in the faults.
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