Vincent Miles sat on the low stone seawall feeling wholly restored. To what exactly he had been restored, he couldn't say. He only sensed that he had felt like this before-light and content and nothing more. If he tried to picture something more, then he would surely see a world of sorrow and doubt. There was none of that here, not now. The view was everything and everything was the view. From here he could only move on, to some kind of summit, a climax coming his way. . . .