“Ask yourself, Eugenides: why that orange tree? Why that tamarisk bush? She had promised you your heart’s desire while a child of hers was alone in the world and unhappy. See, Eugenides,” Moira said, holding out a finger from each of her hands and interlinking them. “Only two threads brought together, two threads that touched,” she reassured him. “Nothing more than that. And everything else left up to you.”
