"Seems almost like it's Easter," Maureen said. "Seems different from other Sundays. Wonder why?"
"'Cause we're wearing shadow rolls over our noses, just like race horses."
Unconsciously Maureen felt of her nose.
"Can't you see, Maureen? We're not even looking at the houses with their porches ripped off and mattresses and things drying in the sun. We're seeing bigger."
"Like what?"
Paul looked up. "Like that flag flying over the Fire House, painting stars and stripes on the sky. And the sea smiling and cheerful as if it'd never been nasty-mean."
Maureen nodded. "And even if the houses are all bashed in, Paul, you hardly notice them for the clumps of daffydils."
It was true. The world seemed reborn. The blue-green water of the bay was unruffled and washing softly against the drift. Gulls were gliding on a seaward breeze with scarcely a wing-flutter. And here and there in all the mud and muck, hosts of yellow daffodils were nodding like spatters of sunshine.