I WILL describe Molly.

In the city of Zurich, along the river that flows into the Zurich See, there are several substantial churches. They all toll the time, keeping the twenty-four hours of the day in order. One particularly impressed me, the Grossmünster. It is a Protestant church, built of great, square-cut stone blocks, its style established by round Romanesque arches, which settle, don’t soar. When you push the heavy entrance door open, it closes quickly and of itself behind you. You see immediately that there is no altar, only a raised area at the end of the nave with stairs leading up to it, no barrier, no rail. All the windows at the sides of the church are of clear gray glass, and the impression of the body of the church is severe and old-fashioned, even rigid and cold, and so the totality would appear, except that in the depths, in the most intimate part, where in other times there may have been a holy place, there are three long high narrow windows of colored glass. These were designed and installed by a twentieth-century artist, and they are of the most intense and brilliant colors—blood red, night purple, deep sea blue, forest green—all richly saturated, passionate, and modern. Everything about the place is old-fashioned and uninviting, except when you look into the depths—there is the surprise! When you enter the depths—as I did—and see those passionate windows, they are the church.

Molly invited me to move into her house until I left for overseas.