It is snowing again. It is gorgeous. Just like a fairyland. All white. And the snow is glistening in the
sun. But the snow flakes are light, and as I glanced out the window, I have noticed that they melt
the moment they hited the pavement so it could not be the weather which makes Andrew late
getting home. "I think the traffic and the snow will hold him up," Sarah said. "If it is snowing in
Connecticut, it can slow Andrew down, and everyone else who will come back to the city on
Sunday night. There , is probably a backup of cars." "That's true, yes," I 155
said, seizing on this possibility, wanting to ease worry. But the fact is, Andrew was never
late, and that was what troubled me now. Sarah knew it as well as I was, but neither of us
voiced this thought at the moment.