The block of cells was tiny, only four of them in a square, separated by bars, with a passageway down the middle. One of the cells was occupied, by an old man in a pea coat sleeping on a cot. They put Henry in the cell diagonal from him, against the back wall. He had a cot, a sink, and a toilet bowl. No privacy, of course. No windows. Another wall clock hung at his end of the passageway, and when the officers left the block, he could hear the second hand ticking.

He held his head in his hands and cried, quietly, until the man in the pea coat said, “Quit your blubbering,” and he looked up to see him glaring at him over his shoulder. “Fucking prep-school pansy,” the man said, lowering his head again.

Henry looked down at his trousers and loafers and supposed an old drunk could see him that way. But his life had veered in another direction. He’d be an old drunk himself soon enough. He curled up on his cot, facing the cinder-block wall, and closed his eyes tight. The light in the block remained on, which seemed unnecessarily cruel. He’d always felt generously about himself, but now he knew what he was. A liar, an adulterer, and a criminal. He could never go home again. He could never face his family.

The hours passed slowly, one second at a time. He fell in and out of consciousness. He dreamt that he was wedged in a coal chute and was suffocating, and he woke with a loud breath. The cell was silent, aside from the old man’s snores, and the second hand of the clock, and the faint buzz of the light. He couldn’t hear the sea. He could have been anywhere.

Seven o’clock looked no different from one thirty, except that now a new officer entered the block, bringing oatmeal and water for breakfast. Henry drank the water but had no appetite, and set the oatmeal aside. He felt bloated, but he couldn’t have relieved himself here if his life had depended on it. He curled up again and tried to sleep.

Just after noon an officer woke him, kicking his cot, saying, “Up and at ’em, kid. Time to leave.”

Behind him the cell door stood open. Henry sat up, baffled, and put his loafers on.

He followed the officer out of the block and down a short corridor into the lobby, where Clara was standing at the front desk in her sunglasses, a white scarf tied about her head. Right then, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.