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stared out at the churning, wind-whipped bay. The warm, unseasonal rains of the last several days had created a chaotic pattern of ice patches and open water. The whole normally placid scene now looked hostile and foreboding, void of life. The heavy, dark rolling clouds were encroaching again, and it wouldn't be long till they were hit with another onslaught of the unseasonal rains. They would descend upon him and plunge the day still further into a premature darkness. |
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The bourbon burned its way down his dry throat and slammed into his empty stomach. It had been too long since he had eaten. Now, in the silence, his thoughts turned to the Saint Quentin woman. He had known her all of the five years he had been stationed at Pepperell. She had worked for General Collins when he first met her, and when the stodgy old bachelor and former base commander rotated back to the States, the general gave the woman glowing recommendations. Then, after Janet left, the Saint Quentin woman seemed to be the logical solution, the ideal person to keep the lonely old house from deteriorating into the typical, ill-kept bachelor quarters of his fellow officers. And since there hadn't been a romantic interlude in Harry's life since Janet, it seemed altogether logical to have the woman live in and use the spare bedroom on the first floor. |
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