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'But you don't believe it?'

'I'd think sometimes-it was a kind of miracle that he let me into his life . . .'

'To Hamburg,' she said, 'I don't like this city. It's too hot. And too cruel.'

'But you don't believe it?'

Valentin had appeared with a glass of milk. He set it down on the table in front of Harry. As he made to leave, she said: 'Valentin. The letter?'

'We were only over for three months, while his show ran. We were going back in September . . .'

'I called him a magician a while back,' Harry said. 'You corrected me.'

'About it being an accident.'

'I'd think sometimes-it was a kind of miracle that he let me into his life . . .'

'Illusionist,' she said.

'Don't blame New York,' he said. 'It can't help itself.'

'Maybe,' she replied, nodding. 'Perhaps what happened to Swann would have happened anyway, wherever we'd been. People keep telling me: it was an accident. That's all. Just an accident.'

'Did you ever see his performance?'

'And he was no miracle-worker?'

'Maybe,' she replied, nodding. 'Perhaps what happened to Swann would have happened anyway, wherever we'd been. People keep telling me: it was an accident. That's all. Just an accident.'

He looked at her strangely, almost as though she'd said something obscene.

'The letter,' she repeated.

Valentin had re-appeared, his lugubrious features rife with suspicion. He carried an envelope, which he clearly had no desire to give up. Dorothea had to cross the carpet and take it from his hands.

'I called him a magician a while back,' Harry said. 'You corrected me.'

Harry wanted to say Swann would have been mad not to have done so, but the comment was inappropriate. She didn't want blandishments; didn't need them. Didn't need anything, perhaps, but her husband alive again.

'So I did,' she said, conceding his point with an apologetic look. 'Forgive me. That was Swann talking. He hated to be called a magician. He said that was a word that had to be kept for miracle-workers.'

'He used to call himself the Great Pretender,' she said. The thought made her smile.

'I called him a magician a while back,' Harry said. 'You corrected me.'

'But you don't believe it?'

'Don't blame New York,' he said. 'It can't help itself.'

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