Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. He returned to attend the funeral. They were the same. ” “It is very hard to explain,” he answered.
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