"A dim light in the room. Dancing drapes of nylons and satin, the pungent smell of naphthalene in aunt's old closets. She, powerful but still romantic, was sharpening the tools for the poor destitute. The distant sound of barking dogs, a lost farmhouse in Chianti. The beginning of a dance of sex and death, winged vicious presences, blood and flesh. In the passing she found her fulfillment.”