But all the time that existed was theirs now.

In all the world there was no more time than what they had.

The crumpled rose had its petals rehabilitated, the thorn that had pricked her was peeled off.

They wondered if Hermann had come in yet.
Then, by some vague process of locomotion, they found themselves at the piano, and with her arm around his neck Sylvia has whispered half a verse of the song of herself.

.