She turned away from him and put her back to the rail. The sun was setting between two of the whirling wind columns. Vast under-lit cloud banks of mellow Renaissance gold. Yaobang turned and looked as well, biting his lip, mercifully silent. Along with the filthy brain buzz of the cigarette, it gave Laura an expansive feeling of sublimity. Beautiful, but it wouldn’t last long—the sun sank fast in the tropics.