“I pile the plates on the counter and go to the back door. The kitchen is warm from the stove, so I open the door a crack. A winter wind comes in, and I stand for a minute, looking out into the snowy dark and letting it cool my face. What if I were to simply walk out into the back garden? I could cross to the stables, surely full of the horses belonging to the hussars, and ride away into the night to find my fortune. Fly, the wind seems to whisper in my ear. Fly away. But I don’t fly away. I have no wings. My head might be in the clouds too often, but that doesn’t lift my feet from the ground. I close the door and shut out the wind, then turn back into the house and my family.”