"Proof?" Maurice spread out his hands in ten separate spastic fingers, in gallic frustration. Leave the realm of numbers, where was proof for anything? Taste the ocean, smell the ocean, to a blind man it could be a lake.
Her ice coffee and pastry tasted marvelous. Her stomach shifted and settled into a more quiet unease. For the first time in two days she felt on the verge of arriving, not there, never there yet, but on the verge of unfolding the mystery of Chrétien de Troyes. Her nausea was almost gone, and the delight and anticipation of the bibliophile returned. Tomorrow she would spend the day on the trail of Chrétien. She lowered her eyes under the declining sun, but a cold thought returned. "Professor Connell will never buy it. Then what?" Getting an interpretation accepted against
