The night it snowed in the Green Mountains, coming down so densely in places that vision ceased just in front of the head lamps on the car, an engineer with General Motors, a troubleshooter in the Chevrolet division, stopped off for the evening in one of those wonderful old Victorian inns in Vermont. The innkeeper was bearded, avuncular, inquisitive, fleshy, and given now and again to alcohol and nicotine. His wife sometimes fretted that he might be a heart in search of an attack. There was a cheery blaze in the fireplace.
The engineer,...
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