His tongue poked tentatively out between his lips, and as he bent his head toward Depape’s boots, the first of his tears fell. She thought about the Hounds of the Falls, how they had jutted from the thundering white billows below the dark and starshot sky; she thought of their eyes. Jake turned the page. Had she just spied an old woman (surely the one she had come to see) dart down that last bit of path leading from the top of the hill? She thought she had.
She had done it for Roland, for her love, and simply knowing she could have done no different now offered some consolation. There were spectators now, avidly watching this old ritual of renunciation (Sheemie was among them, eyes wide and mouth quivering), but Susan barely noticed. It’s late, and talk palls after moonset, some say. His feet, which had been propped up on his desk, came down to the floor.
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