“Did Putin leave Crimea?” he asked. I smiled. Declan, in all his wisdom, was focused on the one result that mattered—not who won the public debate, but whether the aggressor had retreated. My son had brought me down to earth. “Not yet, Dec,” I said. “But a Power never gives up, do we?” “Never!” he said, his face bright with possibility. “And tomorrow you can try again.”
This is both wonderful and melancholy
