A small house party in England, near the campus of Oxford University—you stood in a dark crowd of people you didn’t know—but the arms of Harry Crosby were at your waist. He was all you had left. It brought tears to your eyes.

All the people are dancing, they’re having such fun—I wish it could happen to me. You swayed in step to the acoustics, head against Crosby’s chest, trying to fight the tears that threatened to spill.