He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest.
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