Later Orsola felt the brief moment on the Riva di San Matteo when they had their hands entangled in each other’s hair was the point that everything in her life had led up to and then moved away from, like the tide rising and falling. Except that the tide always returned, and he was not going to return, for he had turned traitor to Murano glass and to her and was going to Berlin or Munich or Amsterdam, and she might never be able to forgive him.
