A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. He read the Times with an unusually passionate intentness, and then declared suddenly for the earlier of the two trains he used. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. What does she look like?’ ‘Black hair. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. It is simply our point of view which is altogether different.
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