We married, and for a time we were happy. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. After the twins were past the toddling age, Clotilde finally caught on when the children cleaved to Lucia’s breast when it was time to leave for a fortnight abroad. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. " "No," thundered Wild.
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