She had nursed a vague hope that Cassiopeia might, by some miraculous means, have reached home before her,
but she knew in her heart of hearts that the tortoise's slow rate of progress rendered this impossible.
At long last she crept into bed, really alone for the first time ever.
Once she had given Cassiopeia up for lost, Momo decided to concentrate on trying to find Beppo.
She spent the next few weeks roaming aimlessly through the city in search of him.
No one could give her any clue to his whereabouts, so her one remaining hope was that they might simply bump into each other.
The vastness of the city made this a forlorn hope. They had as little chance of meeting as a shipwrecked sailor has
that his message in a bottle will be netted by a fishing boat ten thousand miles from the desert island where he tossed it into the sea.
For all that, Momo kept telling herself, she and Beppo might be quite close to each other.
Who could tell how often she had passed some spot where he had been only an hour, a minute, or even a moment or two before?
Conversely, how often had Beppo crossed a square or rounded a street corner only minutes or moments after her?
Encouraged by this thought, Momo often waited in the same spot for hours.
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