Above him, light seemed drained from the gray sky. With the windchill factor the temperature had to be twenty degrees below zero. His body was a piece of frozen meat; a curiously satisfying thought. Father Hart jogged every day, regardless of the weather. Yesterday he had jogged in driving, stinging sleet. He had loved it. His numbed ears were filled with the rush of the wind and the boom of the surf. The waves towered to incredible heights and then crashed straight down when the wind caught them, creating explosions of angry water. Beneath the gloomy sky, the foaming combers seemed doubly berserk. Warnings from an angry God? Another jogger came toward him, accompanied by a frolicsome Airedale. It was the Jewish girl, Jacqueline Chasen. She waved cheerfully to him. They often met in the dawn and occasionally in the twilight. She jogged on doctor’s orders, to regain her muscle tone after months in hospital beds, recovering from an automobile accident. “How do you like this weather?”
