“Yes,” Burton said. He kissed her several times. “We’ll have to go back to The River, but that doesn’t matter.”
How strange and unforeseeable! The world had been saved, not by great rulers and statesmen, not by mystics and saints and prophets and messiahs, not by any of the holy scriptures, but by an introverted eccentric writer of mathematical texts and children’s books and by the child who’d inspired him.
The little girl become a woman, dream-ridden Alice, had inspired the nonsense not really nonsense, and this in circuitous and spiraling fashion had inspired her to do what all others had failed to do, to save eighteen billion souls and the world.
While thinking this, Burton happened to look toward the door. Frigate had been whirling around and around and babbling nonsense all the way to the door. Now he was walking back from it and frowning.
Burton left Alice to go to him.
“Is something the matter?”
Frigate quit frowning and grinned.
“No. I thought I heard footsteps in the corridor. But I looked, and there was no one there. Imagination, I guess.”
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