We carry our troubles to our windows; through windows we see the stars.

We cannot visualize God, but we can see His stars pinned to the immeasurable spaces.

So Kitty sought her window and added her question to the countless millions forlornly wandering about up there, and finding no answer.
But she would return to New York on the morrow.

She would not summon Bernini as she had promised.

She would go back by train, alone, unhampered.
And in his cellar Boris Karlov spun his web for her..