He saw three people: a young man at the piano, an elderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in a chair, her eyes closed. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. “He dissembles,” he said. " "Six," he corrected. “When you loosen the tangle in one place you tie a knot in another. 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. For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. And she, she in her own person too, was this eternal Bios, beginning again its recurrent journey to selection and multiplication and failure or survival. Yet she held her tongue.
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