Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. He drove her to the Beck house, pulling up behind Cathy's red Nissan. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence.
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