Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere. ” He paused and looked at her, and said, with a sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. He’ll survive. Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad.
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