On Martha's Vineyard, Summer 1962 is a canvasful of brushstrokes and scumblings, some wet into wet, some dry-brushed, with accidental runs of thinned paint allowed to remain.

The social worker very clearly befriends the families with whom she works, and the GP becomes a friend to many of his patients.

[…] And now, our news are told, noble Crevecoeur, and what think you they resemble? A mine full charged with gunpowder, answered Crevecoeur, to which, I fear, it is my fate to bring the kindled linstock. Your news and mine are like flax and fire, which cannot meet without bursting into flame, or like certain chemical substances which cannot be mingled without an explosion.

Has your girlfriend written you a letter yet?