1912. American newspaperman and novelist McCutcheon's book begins: The train, which had roared through a withering gale of sleet all the way up from New York, came to a standstill, with many an earsplitting sigh, alongside the little station, and a reluctant porter opened his vestibule door to descend to the snow-swept platform: a solitary passenger had reached the journey's end. The swirl of snow and sleet screaming out of the blackness at the end of the station building enveloped the porter in an instant, and cut his ears and neck with stinging force as he turned his back against the gale. See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.