The heaving moan of the wind. The whining fury of tortuous grief, and brutal guffaws . . . The tracks are wiped out, covered up, never existed. A frenzied, senseless whirl. Laughter . . .

A black mass sticks out of the white sea. They are trying to dig out. Thew are having a good time. Vag had a good time too. He had liked the movies. Everybody had a good time.

Vag stamps, pants home, to the House. Nobody is around, everybody is alone. Coldly, cruelly alone. Alone? Why? Everybody is here. The world is here. They are here. . . .

They are here. White ghosts gliding through whiteness. A distant roar, as of cannons . . .Blood in the snow. A cry, "Forward, over the top! I can't any more, the snow is too deep. Deep and heavy. The metal freezes to my fingers. No, it is hot, it burns, it burns them right off. I must hold on tight. Tighter. Now it is all still. Not a sound. Just a hum, the hum of silence. On and on. I don't hear any more. I don't see any more. I can't any more.

Here is the House. Vag feels his body submerged in moist warmth, luscious warmth. Walt is there too, in slippers and pajamas. Vag puts on slippers and pajamas. Hot chocolate and cookies, Tchaikowsky's Fifth Symphony.

Vag is weary and happy. How good is the chocolate! How good is Walt! How good is the world!