He was opening his book, ready to pick up where he’d left off on the story of Margrave Frederick the Undaunted, when he suddenly saw St. Marks Place, that past October. He’d been talking with Fish, in front of a used-record store, the sort of place that actually sold records, the vinyl kind, and through the window, in black and white, a woman’s face had regarded him from the wall. And for an instant, settling back on the pillows, he knew who that was, and that he also knew her in some different way.