At the lake shore there was another rowboat drawn up.

From Smith’s back door Liz could see ore barges way out in the lake going toward Boyne City.

From Smith’s back door you could look out across the woods that ran down to the lake and across the bay.

It was very beautiful in the spring and summer, the bay blue and bright and usually whitecaps on the lake out beyond the point from the breeze blowing from Charlevoix and Lake Michigan.

His family were enormously wealthy⁠—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach⁠—but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest.