2. “I wish he had,” she said. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. “Indeed, I must implore you to return. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. The doctor and Anna were left alone. It doesn’t matter. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. ‘Merci, dieu.
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