Music:A little Mozart on a distant breeze and the insulated hush of a hotel room
We have left the chateau for the mist-wreathed waters of Venice. Here we're enjoying candle-lit rooms decked in familiar old finery, a thousand revelers in peacock colors and the endless murmur of voices curling to the stars in soft pleasure. How alive is the sound of mortal laughter! And I need this little bit of human warmth.
The wheel moves on and I have strangest sense that I have not yet moved with it.