Through the coal smoke that gripped his throat Fanshaw caught a whiff of roses. A girl in a mink coat with a large bunch of pink roses at her waist had just brushed past him. She must be going to the wedding too, he thought, and started walking in the direction she had gone, following with his eyes the signs that announced the trains: Portland Express, North Shore Local.... "Hello, Macdougan, where the hell are you going?" "I'm going to a wedding. What are you doing here this time of day, Henley?" "I'm off to a wedding too." Henley had a booming voice; he was a tall dark man with a moustache, thickwaisted. "Cham Mason's wedding?" "Sure.... I didn't know that dignified people like you went in for weddings." "I don't often, Henley.... But I roomed with Cham Mason when we were freshmen." "Frankly, Macdougan, I find weddings of great anthropological interest.... Savage survivals." They were in a crowd of very dressed people passing through a gate in the end platform, all about them fur coats, flowers, fuzzy hats, bright shoes. "O, how do you do, Mrs. Glendinning! Yes, dreadfully cold. Why everybody anyone ever knew in the world is here? No, those are the Pittsburgh people. Imagine having a special train. Yes, those are the Harrison-Smiths, my dear." "Say, Macdougan, suppose we get in the smoker where we can chat quietly," whispered Henley fitting his derby back on his head. "This is too much of a good thing.... There's something so prurient about women at an affair like this." "After all a wedding.... Go ahead." "Why they are parlor cars.... Here we are.... Is the only piece of straight sex-ceremonial left to us." "How's that?" "The ring, my dear fellow, the ring.... What could be more of a symbol than a ring? Why, among the aborigines of the Caribbean ..." "Why, look who's here?... Why, this is a class reunion, boys." A red, round face topped by straight black hair slicked across a bald forehead was poked in the door. "You remember me, don't you, Henley?" "Sure I do, Randall. I haven't seen you since our last class day. How are you?... As I was saying, Macdougan, among the aborigines of the Caribbean ..." "I think I'll join you fellers if you don't mind. Gee, it's great isn't it, that old Cham is gettin' hitched?" "That depends...." "Not if you know the bride," Randall hitched up his blue serge trousers and let himself sink down broadly on to the leather seat. "Ah ... A lovely, sweet girl." "Yes, I know her," said Fanshaw frostily. He turned and looked out at the empty windows of the train on the next track. Through them he could see more windows, people sitting in a parlor car. There came a toot from the engine and the empty windows and the windows with people in them began to glide past. The seat rumbled; the train was moving, smoke cut out the view, cleared to reveal bridges and black water over which gulls veered screaming. Five gulls on the edge of a cake of ice.