“There you are, Irène. You’ve stumbled through the looking glass,” Frederick said, a weary smile darting across his bloodied face. “We meet again. No, that’s not right. We meet in the middle. The wood between the worlds.”
This is from one of my favorite chapters in Leaving Paris so far. Irène goes to the building where Jean-Louis died and phases out of the present to 1968 and meets a young Frederick, who has slipped the boundaries of time and space to deliver a message.