One

Vincent Miles sat on the low stone seawall feelingwholly restored. To what exactly he had been restored,he couldnt say. He only sensed that he had felt like thisbeforelight and content and nothing more. If he triedto picture something more, then he would surely see aworld of sorrow and doubt. There was none of that here,not now. The view was everything and everything wasthe view. From here he could only move on, to somekind of summit, a climax coming his way. . . .