Molly took his package and looked down at it for a long time. "I have a present for you," she said softly. "I was going to give it to you another time, but… I'll go get it."

She left and returned quickly with a small packet, no more than five inches square. It was a folded paper and, when opened, it had several faces, all of them variations of Ben's. In the center was a man's massive head, with fierce eyebrows and penetrating eyes, surrounded by four others, all resembling one another enough to show relationship.

"Who are they?"

"In the middle is the old man who owned this house. I found photographs in the attic. That is his son, David's father, and that one is David. That's you."

"Or Barry, or Bruce, or any of the others before us," Ben said curtly. He didn't like the composite picture. He didn't like looking at the faces of men who had lived such different, inexplicable lives, and who looked so much like him.

"I don't think so," Molly said, squinting her eyes at the picture, then studying him. "There's something about the eyes they just don't have. Theirs only see outward, I think, and yours, and those of the other men in the picture, they can look both ways."

Suddenly she laughed and drew him to the fire. "But put it away and let's have our tea, and a cookie. I've been getting more than I can eat and I saved a lot. We'll have a party!"

"I don't want any tea," Ben said. Not looking at her, watching the flames in the grate, he asked, "Don't you even care?"

"Care?"

Ben heard the pain there, sharp, undeniable. He closed his eyes hard.

"Should I weep and howl and tear my clothes, and bang my head on the wall? Should I beg you not to leave me, to stay with me always? Should I throw myself from the topmost window of this house? Should I grow thin and pale and wither away like a flower in the autumn, killed by the cold it never understands? How should I show I care, Ben? Tell me what I should do."

He felt her hand on his cheek and opened his eyes and found they were burning.

"Come with me, Ben," she said gently. "And afterwards perhaps we shall weep together when we say goodbye."