When the whistle blew and the call stretched thin across the night, one had to believe that any journey could be sweet to the soul.
It was a perfect night for a train. The occasional whistle told Louis of all the farewells he had ever known.
Not until he stood at the altar did he achieve a sense of being hale and furnished. It was strange, he thought, that a man would find his surest current in the spot where he felt least worthy.