During a stirring, intense year, Mai Linh had gathered cards, notes, letters, sms and emails, the creative atoms of a fated romance. Beside the Lake of the Redeemed Sword, under the broad boasting tree of Summer, he had held her shoulders: "You will see. You will believe, in you, in me, in life's chances to those who strive. Em se'e xem, before the last bang leaf falls." She had glanced at the rampant greenery, then at their wavering shadow, fragmented on the pavement. "These leaves will blaze and fade and fall, and all will be bare," she smiled, "and we will walk here in wool and leather....