Sarah was climbing the hill slowly, which seemed to her an odd thing when she noticed it, for probably never in her life had she been so eager to get to the top. But then, everything was strange today. She was dry-eyed when all the others - family, friends, and even strangers - were weeping openly. . . . Beyond the field, the mellow green of the woodland, and the rim of the sky bluer than she'd ever seen it. Clouds floating softly, ever so white, ever so light, just wandering around. That was it; the whole world seemed indifferent. Nothing cared about what had happened. Nothing, that is, except people. With people so terribly, awfully torn by grief, it would seem as if the world should be shaken by storm, slashed by lightning, cut by rain. But in every direction as far as she could seen, the world was beautiful, and warm and living.

Only her father was dead.