The terror which would not end for another twenty-eight years-if it ever did end-began so far as I know or can tell with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain. The boat bobbed;listed;righted itself again dived bravely through treacherous whirlpools and continued on its way down Witcham street toward the traffic light which marked the intersection of Witcham and Jarkson.
The three vertical lenses on all sides of the traffic light were all dark, too. There had been steady rain for a week now, and two days ago the winds had come as well.
