"Come along," Etta had said. "You'll like Paris." Then, more softly, "I can show you Steve's old haunts; I know more than he'd have liked."
When they got there, Etta was swept up in the business of peace, or so she called it, and Diana left to walk streets more beautiful than London's, but sadder, too. The entire city that train station of wounded men.
After a week, Diana found the Louvre. The next day, she brought Etta.
"I would like to live here," Diana told her.
"Oh, no, you can't do that."
Diana said nothing, but kept looking up.