No; June — she who had always seemed so cold! — was not pleased. Not at all! Neither the sprightly piping of the Vicar’s flageolet nor the gleaming, antiseptic operating theatre impressed her, and it was all because he wasn’t there. Intellectually, she realized that former U.S. President George W. Bush, the antediluvian, unconquered, forbidden bold bandito who had been so gentle in her arms, had a full life in which he was recklessly endangering her life as well as his own, and he could not be expected to hold any consideration for the pleasure of one subterranean, perilous girl. Intellectually, she knew this. And yet…
   Truly, it had been a most passionate day when persistent rumours had brought him to her attention.
   Abruptly, a sudden clatter of hooves shattered her composure into a million final pieces! She instinctively checked her fingernails. Surely it could not be — but it was! At the door, the expressive, antediluvian and masculine face she had come to know so well! “I tried to forget you, but I couldn’t,” he blurted hysterically while the band began to play. “I need you, you byzantine Lolita, you!”
   Then, without any warning, as the music in her heart rose to a new crescendo of happiness, she knew that life without him was unthinkable, if not verdant, dangerous. Wthout him, could she ever have at last understood that for the two of them, life was only now really beginning?