She had a heavy limp that had not been there three years ago, and the sight of it did something to me I could not name.

And part of it, I think, was that for the first time in three years, my good story had stopped making sense, and some animal part of me needed to see where she went.

I trailed her at a distance through a dilapidated stretch of the industrial district along the canal, where the streets turned to mud and the buildings were rotting wooden shacks leaning against each other for support.

She never looked back.