It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. 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. Gold-handled, too. He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket. ” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town. She donned her gloves.
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