That was the most terrible winter of my life," Mary tells Andrew."It rained the whole month of December, the rain line kept sneaking down from Oregon. There'd be these downpours, and a huge chunk of road would collapse. You couldn't go anywhere. I got so claustrophobic. I was twelve years old and I thought about killing myself every night lying there, listening to the rain beating on tin. We had to postpone Christmas till the end of January."

Andrew is Scots. He is driving Mary back to the school on the North Shore of Massachusetts where she teaches beginning French to his oldest son, Duncan, and eleven other 15year-olds. She is resident proctor as well. Andrew teaches there, too. As a diversion, he has developed a college-style seminar in European history which is open only to approved seniors. This is a private school of the second rank. Students do not often graduate from it into Princeton or Yale or Harvard.

"The reason Amelia is so moody today," Andrew tells Mary, who already knows why, "is she didn't sleep two winks last night. She's still worrying about her orals next week, she can't start on her dissertation until she passes her orals." They both know she will pass.