“My wife was a psychiatrist,” remarked Pete, “before she became a bruja.” — Tim Powers

He wondered if she had actually read his mind or simply knew him well enough to guess his thoughts.

An angel, maybe, Cochran thought, but one with a harpoon rather than a harp.

White seagulls, luminous in the new daylight, were circling high overhead against the blue of the clean sky, whistling and piping in the open, unechoing air as if calling out the news of the soon-returning spring.