QUOTE : Joseph shook his head. How could such a thing happen? It made him think of William Blake’s poem where a worm finds its way into a bed of luminous, red roses—O world thou art sick. He tried to divert himself by focusing on the drive. People were lining up to get tested. He watched them offer their arms to the technician; the dark-red fluid flowing from syringes into glass vials; the vials placed into plastic crates; the crates stacked one on top of another. The blood would be screened in a laboratory for the specific genetic markers on white blood cells and then compared to Emily’s. Hopefully, a match would be found.