The sky had darkened without notice, thick clouds layering heavily above the City-State, a tangy, saline sea breeze sweeping through the streets as though intending to pour the cold air directly into one's bones.
Old Captain Lawrence stepped out of the church's grand entrance, shrugging his neck against the chilling wind. Looking up at the sky, he began to grumble about the miserable weather, "Bloody hell, such rotten luck. Just when I've finally finished the quarantine observation, I have to trudge home through this wind for half an hour..."
On the church square, pedestrians hurried along, a rain seemed imminent; everyone was preoccupied with clothes left out to dry or windows left unclosed at home, but the first thing the old captain thought of was his temperamental wife—he had been "quarantined for observation" in the church for many days without sending a single message home; how could he not expect a severe tongue-lashing or even a black and blue "welcome" of love?
