He looked at his watch. "There is no time in Vagabondia. The birds have been asleep a long while. But if you must know—it's half-past nine."
"Only that?" in surprise. "We've turned time backward, haven't we?"
"Of life forward," he paused and then: "You are still willing to go on?" he asked.
She smiled into the fire.
"I am," quietly. "I'm committed irrevocably."
"To me?"
"Oh, no. To myself, mon ami. You are merely my recording angel."
"A vagabond angel—"
"Or an angel vagabond. I haven't disappointed you?"
He laughed softly, but made no reply. Of a truth, she had not.