"I turned the key and opened the door to the apartment that was my home.
Christopher must have sent Lucinda home for the weekend. The lacquered clock chimed six thirty as I closed the apartment door behind me, my heels clicking and pivoting on the hardwood. I knew he could have heard my key turn out the lock and then the hush downt the hallway to the vestibule where I stood motionless. Through his library window, the sun must have been paling to rose, the last trace lingering along the glass that separated him from Manhattan's skyline. I know he's been sitting there, waiting for the world to darken completely, his broad back humped in front of the long row of bookshelves."