Chapter FiveBanshee Castle
It was after three when they finally set out for Merry Point. In the mists that lay over the Jersey flats as they emerged from the Holland Tunnel, there hung already a desolate sense of approaching nightfall. Oncoming cars mostly had their lights on, yellow blobs bursting through the grayness, their wheels whirring shrilly on smooth wetness as they passed. Traffic moved swiftly, weaving, jockeying for advantage at stop signals, as though everyone wanted to get the journey over with, to get out of the cold fog and into warmth and cheer.
“Reminds me of Liverpool,” shivered Sybil.
“I have a feeling,” said Tim, “that Liverpool will seem like the Riviera to you when we get to Merry Point.”
When they left the main highway and swung toward the coast, the sense of de
