“Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. ” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother.
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