Kenny had often mourned for departed madness.

He had never mourned the girl whom Chance had appointed to inspire it.

Why mourn a flower that has bloomed and faded when the bush is full?
And marriage?
That uncomfortable essential, legalists said, to civilization and the transmission of property?
To Kenny marriage had always seemed a little like the Land of the Ever-Young.

Mortals imprisoned there soon tired of exile and longed for freedom and distraction.

His own marriage was but a memory he refused to face, dim and distant, an inexplicable flurry of sentimentality that had ended tragically with Brian in his arms.