“A wealthy husband?”

“Probably stodgy and boring.”

“What then?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

“All right. I’ll ask if you don’t.”

We made our way southward along the Concourse, and the breezes picked up as we neared Land’s End. It was a winter ocean that came into view across the distance; slate-gray and white-capped. Many birds wheeled far out over the waves, and one very sinuous dragon.

We passed through the Great Arch and came at last to the landing and looked downward. It was a vertiginous prospect, out across a brief, broad stair — the steep drop to the tan-and-black beach far below. I regarded the ripples in the sand left by the retreating tide, wrinkles in an old man’s brow. The breezes were stronger here, and the damp, salty smell, which had been increasing as we approached, seasoned the air to a new level of intensity. Coral drew back for a moment, then advanced again.

“It looks a little more dangerous than I’d thought,” she said, after a time. “Probably seems less so once you’re on it.”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“You’ve never climbed it?”

“Nope,” I said. “Never had any reason to.”

“I’d think you’d have wanted to, after your father’s doomed battle along it.”

I shrugged: “I get sentimental in different ways.” She smiled.

“Let’s climb down to the beach. Please.”

“Sure,” I said, and we moved forward and started. The broad stair took us down for perhaps thirty feet, then terminated abruptly where a much narrower version turned off to the side. At least the steps weren’t damp and slippery. Somewhere far below, I could see where the stair widened again, permitting a pair of people to go abreast. For now, though, we moved single file, and I was irritated that Coral had somehow gotten ahead of me.

“If you’ll scrunch over, I’ll go past,” I told her.

“Why?” she asked…