For the onlookers, there is a bitter sweetness in every departure. ‘They’re lucky,’ Lucienne said. ‘Yes.’ He was thinking ‘No’ – or at least that he didn’t envy them their luck. For him, too, starting over, departures, a new life had a certain lustre, but he knew that only the impotent and the lazy attach happiness to such things. Happiness implied a choice, and within that choice a concerted will, a lucid desire. He could hear Zagreus: ‘Not the will to renounce, but the will to happiness.’
