"That other country, waiting. He is by trade a keeper of the door to that country. Drawn, the black blade becomes a key. When he holds it, he holds the wind in his hand. The door swings gently open. But he does not draw it now, and the traders see only a gray-haired man, wolfishly professorial…raises his hand to halt a passing cab. Though somehow they do not, as they easily might, rush to claim it as their own."