She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. This isn’t the place. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. Until Leonardo. ’ ‘Can you prove it?’ demanded Hilary. “I am frightened now.
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