For when this Joan said it, I had a memory. But the world didn’t do that. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. They had not so far been of much personal interest to Gerald, but tonight was different.
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