For that brief moment as
Alcandor looked into the eyes of his beloved wife, it was the two of them alone
in their own private world. He treasured those moments when they came. He
wanted to stay locked in the security of that gaze. His wife’s glance steadied
him. If only she would maintain it, but she suddenly turned away to watch the
dancing. Alcandor was anxious. He was troubled and unsettled but didn’t know
why.
As he thought of his family
and observed them as Caterina was doing, he tried to feel glad and thankful,
but instead he was tense and ill at ease. He felt as if something was lying in
wait, a monster crouching and waiting to devour him.
He had been trying to work
it out for some time—was it days, weeks, months, or years? He wasn’t sure
anymore. Occasionally, he thought the monster was materialising, and his mind
struggled to capture it, but it always slipped from his grasp, eluding any
effort to pin it down and scrutinise it.
He wanted to live within the moment when he and Caterina had
looked at each other, but he was alone with his thoughts again, without that
beloved face to anchor him against the tumult of the thoughts which buffeted
his mind like the billows of a stormy sea.
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