For George and Marjorie the journey had always been a rocky ride, tempestuous from the get-go. They, and others, believed this to be from the depth of their physical attraction, something that would carry them across the differences, that would help them to smooth out the squalls. And it did, for just short of fifty years.
But as the physical urge quietens, so the differences were magnified. Physicality was meant to segue into an abiding respect and affection. A recognition of the worth of the individual in the couple. But not so with George, nor with Majorie. Essentially they were Bogart and Bacall, Tracy and Hepburn, Burton and Taylor. Their passion was writ large across the sky and then fizzled leaving a damp squib instead of an abiding relationship.
There was nothing left once the attraction of opposites played out its tune. The music-box wound down, and the ballerina froze.