The sudden pang of sadness is too much, and she flips back to the society pages. There’s mention of an M. Lestrange returning to society and she can’t help but laugh. Beside the gossip column there’s a photograph of Abraxas and Philomena, announcing their recent marriage. She runs her finger over Abraxas’ face, a gesture that catches her off guard. It’s the body, she tells herself. Marion’s body remembers him, longs for him. (It’s not that he is the spitting image of his grandson. Not that at all.)