Strange the workings of the heart. One could go on for years, habituated to loss, reconciled to it, and then, in a moments unwary thought, the pain resurfaced, sharp and raw as a fresh wound.

This was the price for the the strange life she had chosen, but she had gone into it with eyes open, and there was no profit in regret.

There was always a way, when one knew what one wanted.

Eran extraños los caminos del corazón. Uno podía pasar años habituado a una pérdida, resignado, y después, con un pensamiento casual, el dolor volvía a la superficie, agudo y desnudo como una herida reciente.

and the Daughter.

primicerius? He was young, it was